Bring Me to Life
by Ana Graves
Summary: The Winter is here and so is the Great War. Winterfell, the first and only guardian of the living, welcomes the two fugitives from King's Landing. Having yet to discover their roles in upcoming events, they'll find the closer you are to dying, the more you want to live. But is there a time for life before everything crumbles into dust? Post S7, Jaime/Brienne with ensemble.
1. The Weight of My Heart

**A/N:** I haven't been so nervous before publishing a fic for years. But here I am, doing it anyway. I am probably the last person that should try to write a lengthy GoT fanfiction, because I'm not as familiar with it as I usually am when writing a story, plus I don't really remember the seasons I didn't manage to rewatch yet (5&6). But the love for Jaime & Brienne together and the joy of writing this piece brought me here, and I wanted to share it with you. Yes, it's yet another story of "what will be after s7" (you probably already read dozens of it). But I hope you'll check it out anyway.

Allow me to dedicate this little something to my amazing GoT family. I've met so many amazing people during last few weeks and I love you all!

Okay, I'll stop talking now. Hope you'll enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing! Leave me a review and tell me what you thought even if you didn't like it, and whether you want to read more of it or not.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own "Game of Thrones". The image is taken from a wallpaper made by chiaratippy from deviantart.

* * *

 **I**

 **The Weight of My Heart**

The winter was here, that fact was undeniable. As Jaime and Bronn made their way north the weather was deteriorating rapidly, in the sharp contrast to their slow pace of movement. They weren't in a hurry, although they maybe should have been. The farther north they were, the slower their horses were moving. Maybe it was the cold that was slowing them down; or maybe it was the weight of one man's heart.

"We'll fucking freeze here before we get to Winterfell," Bronn used to murmur every time the white fluff covered his cloak thoroughly and he had to shake it off, which worked only for a few minutes.

"Maybe it'd be for the better," Jaime muttered as an answer every single time.

He wasn't sure it was the best idea to go to Winterfell and join the other side. He wasn't sure about anything at all right now, except for the fact that the winter was here.

Immediately after leaving King's Landing, he had been certain there was no other way. Staying meant death, one way or another - if not at the hands of the Mountain, then some other time, by someone else. It was death. He had to leave. Or at least that was what he was telling himself during their long journey away from King's Landing.

Away from her.

He had been ready to leave it all behind - to hate Cersei, to fight the White Walkers with the Targaryen's girl, to tell Brienne he had followed her advice and fucked loyalty. He had been ready for all that and at the beginning even somewhat excited for all the new prospects and the freedom he had suddenly experienced.

Until he wasn't ready at all.

It was few days after he had reunited with Bronn that the cries of his heart became too loud to ignore. And once he let them in there was no turning back.

 _The heartbreak_. Emotion so strong it sometimes overwhelmed him and crushed his chest in a lethal grip until he practically couldn't breathe. Love denied, despised, rejected, broken. Love that had defined his entire life, dictating his acts, words, thoughts. Dictating his _wrong_ acts, _most cruel_ words, _morally improper_ thoughts. Love that once had been the only thing he had felt. It was gone, thrown into garbage alongside his devotion by Cersei's contempt. But though it had to be gone, it could not be forgotten, as it left a burning hole in his heart that will never truly heal, even given time he didn't have. His heart was empty.

 _The pain._ The heart could ache, itch and burn almost unbearably, evoking sensations too strong to describe; but other things hurt as well. Like lost pride or rather lost remnants of it. Like the realization he had been the most stupid and naive Lannister to ever tread this soil, the blindest and the most unwilling to learn from his own mistakes. Like the memories embedded in his mind, constantly laughing at him. They should have meant nothing now, but they did mean a lot. And it hurt even more.

 _The disappointment_. For a few hours he had been so proud of her. She had finally left all the enmities behind and was willing to put an end to at least one war, for the common people's sake. He had been proud, not suspecting it could have been a lie even for a single moment. But she was stubborn and ignorant, and she wouldn't listen. Not to reason, choosing a certain death at the hands of whoever will win the war with the dead. Not to the other side, because they represented everything she despised. And definitely not to him, barely a pawn in her game she didn't need anymore, a broken toy that stopped entertaining and became easily disposable. Replaceable, even. Redundant. A liability, maybe. Many fancy words for a simple, yet how dreadfully painful thing.

 _The anger._ He was furious at her. _Damn you, Cersei_ , he thought, wishing to stop seeing her face in his mind, in his dreams. If she could just put someone else's well-being before her own, if she could for once listen to someone or something else than her own deranged mind, everything might have been different. But she didn't care, did she? They could have been happy, or at least die happily, as a family with the child he no longer believed even existed. They could have had it all.

 _The hatred._ Despite everything, he didn't hate her. He hated himself for ignoring the warnings, for blindly following someone who had definitely earned the name of the Mad Queen by now, who had been manipulating him for gods know how long. He hated himself for the heartache he experienced because of that. He hated the world for making her who she was now. He hated their father for the same thing. But maybe Tywin and the world weren't to be blamed here. Maybe only she herself was responsible for her own character. Maybe.

Once the emotions settled in, he stopped seeing sense in anything at all, and definitely not in their journey north. What were they trying to prove? What was the point of this destination, if not ultimate and untimely death? On the other hand, what was the point of carrying on if everything he had ever believed in had turned out to be a lie?

There were times, during the dark and long winter nights, when he was just lying with his eyes opened and stared in the space, remembering. Remembering his love for her, his foolish devotion and his joy when she had told him he would finally get to be a father, for once. A sweet illusion she had created to keep him with her until she no longer needed him. A lie, and nothing more.

The only point of going further was to keep his oath to the living. Keep the oath because it was the right thing to do, the only honorable thing. Because there was the slightest hope that in the far North two people still believed he was capable of keeping his oaths. And although he wasn't so certain about it after his last encounter with Brienne, he didn't let himself doubt both she and Tyrion will welcome him gladly. If he allowed a single thought that would deny that hope, he would be lost forever.

So instead of doubting he chose to run away from what was making his heart so heavy, both literally and figuratively, and cling to the memories of the only two people in the world who might still care what will happen to him. It was either that or the dreadful black emptiness that had once held his heart.

And so they were, two dark figures slowly moving their way north. The farther they got, Bronn was becoming more and more irritated.

"I don't even know what I'm doin' here with you," he exclaimed one morning when it already became too cold to stop shivering. Their cloaks weren't good for the winter. Sewed for the colder nights of King's Landing, they didn't protect against the freezing atmosphere of this dark, icy period. The awful truth was, they weren't prepared for this journey. They had left King's Landing in a hurry, knowing full well any moment of delay could put their lives in serious danger, so there had been no time to lose. Although, even if they had had time to get ready, they probably wouldn't have predicted how cold exactly it will be and therefore how many supplies or cloaks will they need. The weather was deteriorating way too quickly for their understanding - their bodies weren't accustomed to such temperatures, their horses weren't familiar with it either, having survived no winter in their short lives. Future looked now even gloomier than before. "We're going to fight the fucking dead, with the fucking dragon queen, next to the fucking King in the North, while the only thing I wanted from you was a fucking castle!"

Jaime sighed, thinking how sweet the world would be if his only concern was to get a fucking castle.

"Of course that all would happen if we ever got there, which we won't, 'cause we'll freeze right here and right now!" Bronn added, raising his voice in irritation.

They were tired, hungry and cold. They had had to visit taverns every second night; now they were traveling without a break for the last twenty-four hours. It probably hadn't been wise to skip the break considering the weather was far worse now. They were too cold and too hungry already, and it was barely morning.

"You are free to go," Jaime answered, wishing nothing but for Bronn to stay. He didn't want to stay alone, not now. If, or rather when, the cold took away his senses, he would want to have someone with him to point him in the right direction. But he had to give his companion a choice. "I'm not going to give you a castle anytime soon, so there is nothing keeping you here."

Bronn snorted and Jaime could hear his teeth chattering.

"You can always go back to the inn I found you in and wait for Cersei to have you dragged before her mighty throne, charged with treason and beheaded. Sadly, I won't attend your funeral, so I have to pay you my most honest condolences right now." Jaime smirked, trying to think about anything else than his body slowly freezing, piece by piece.

"You Lannisters, so convincing with your sleek tongues and your money," Bronn muttered with contempt in his voice without looking at Jaime. "You got a death wish and take everyone along for a death ride. And you're not even paying well enough for that."

"I'm not paying you anything right now."

"Aye, I noticed."

They were silent for the rest of the day, saving their strength for the journey. They had to be close, or that was just what they hoped; the people passing them were as scarce as everywhere else, but these ones were dressed in a much warmer way.

The whole travel north they had tried to stay away from the local people, except for when they had had to sleep somewhere warm - it was way too cold to camp outside. They had been choosing less visited roads, everything to avoid the Kingsroad. Unfortunately, the journey lasted longer than it should have had were they traveling the normal road. Therefore, the worse and worse weather was disastrous for their scarce food supplies, both for them and their horses, their clothes and their bodies. Too cold.

When it came to people though, it wasn't any safer or more dangerous now than down south. There was a smaller chance of encountering any Lannister soldiers and the bigger possibility of avoiding the chase if Cersei had arranged any. Common people out here were much less likely to visit King's Landing or even have the general knowledge of what was going on in Westeros, so they wouldn't recognize the two men dressed casually in black. On the other hand, the farther north they were, the chances of encountering some Starks loyalists grew and Jaime suspected that the Northerners, even if they heard about the alliance, wouldn't be as likely to put their sins behind as seemingly was Daenerys. The North Remembers, wasn't that what they used to say? Furthermore, there was also a higher chance of robbery. Winter had always brought the worst in humans - people exposed to severe cold and hunger were more prone to attack others, and even though they were clad in a way that didn't indicate possessing any riches, they could still seem like a good target for a robbery. They would surely handle some thieves, but killing any Northerner now would be counted as a severe minus on their already not so clean charts. They had to be careful.

Although, Jaime suspected that soon they wouldn't be able to handle even a single northern thief, considering their bodies will arrange a mutiny any time now.

"If we ain't goin' to eat something warm soon, we'll bite the dust," Bronn stuttered in the evening. He was embracing himself tightly, but it didn't do much good. "If there is any under that snow."

Jaime didn't answer, unable to think clearly. He knew Bronn was right; they were too weak to continue their journey, but if they were to stop now, would they ever make it to Winterfell? They were so close... probably... it would be a shame...

He was so tired and so heavy he felt he will fall from his horse sooner rather than later. The animals were also barely walking. The grass was covered with snow even a few miles from King's Landing; now there were heaps of white death everywhere, hiding unknown dangers beneath and obscuring the road. The horses had been treading carefully, but without knowing and finally without seeing the path they had been constantly stumbling. Having to raise their legs very high to take a step had drained them of energy much quicker than the normal walk would do. Plus, the only things they had eaten since leaving King's Landing were some dried herbs and a little hay a host of one inn had offered. Their muzzles were covered with foam and they seemed to be on the brink of exhaustion.

"We... we have to stop," Jaime uttered, coming to a halt. Bronn turned around and looked at him incredulously.

"You want to stop here?" he asked, his voice slightly breaking from cold and tiredness. Still, he seemed to handle it all better than Jaime, maybe because he had had a one-day stay in the inn near King's Landing, the liberty of which Jaime couldn't have afforded. "We can't stop, we'll freeze in a second! And then the wolves will eat us, which definitely doesn't fit the epic demise I imagined."

"Bronn... Just..." Jaime felt like his lips had already frozen, every word coming out with severe difficulty. "Go... and tell them..."

Bronn huffed.

"You think you dragged me all the way up here so I'd just leave you to die? That'll be the day!" And with these words he made his horse step back, grabbed the reins of Jaime's stallion and pulled it abruptly. The horse neighed weakly in protest, its legs barely bending in time to step forward and prevent it from falling. "We're goin'. I won't be killed by some fucking weather."

He moved forward, holding the reins in his hands and looking back from time to time to check if Jaime was still seated on his horse. Struggling with his consciousness, Jaime tried his best to fight, but he was slowly starting to feel the bliss of fading away. The cold, the hunger, the thirst, all of it accumulated creating an unbearable challenge for an unprepared organism.

"You there!" He heard Bronn shouting and snapped back from his slumber. "Is there any inn somewhere near?"

Jaime saw a man dressed in thick fur standing at the edge of the road and suddenly thought he would kill for such a cloak.

"You're nigh," the man answered. "Just a few miles west."

"Thank you, good sir," Bronn answered kindly and turned their horses into a side path on their left. "Did you hear that? We're close."

"I did," Jaime managed to answer before burying his face in his horse's mane and embracing its neck tightly. The animal was cold, the same as he was, but the close touch of flesh somehow made him warmer.

He had no idea how long it took them to reach the inn, but the next thing he noticed with full awareness was sitting near the fire covered with a thick blanket and holding a cup of something warm in his hand. Bronn was sitting next to him with the same equipment and stared at the flames like they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

"We're alive," Jaime noticed, feeling the pleasant warmth spreading through his body. It evoked all the wrong sensations - pain, itching, burning - but it was pleasant nonetheless.

"Aye, that we are." Bronn didn't look away from the fire. "The host said we're an hour away from Winterfell."

"Oh." That would be truly disappointing to freeze an hour from the destination. "So it's good we're alive then."

Bronn looked at him grimly and took a sip from his cup. Jaime followed his example; the liquid had a unique taste of something slightly fermented and possibly rotten, but it was warm and truth be told, it was all that mattered.

"It's dark already," Jaime spoke after a moment. "We should spend the night here."

"That's the first good idea you had since leaving that cunt," Bronn answered and stood up, apparently already warmed enough to feel steady on his feet. He walked up to the host and put his mug on the counter with a loud thump. "We'll stay the night. By the fire."

He thrust a few coins in the man's hand and nodded his head. The innkeeper returned the gesture and then looked at a group of men sitting by the wall. Bronn followed his gaze and found himself staring at a bunch of lads clad in various furs, every cloak completely different from the other. One look at their scarred, cruel faces and he knew two lonely, famished and exhausted fugitives from King's Landing were now facing a threat that could bring them death much sooner than the cold.

* * *

Sansa strode through the long, empty corridors, deeply moved by what she had just heard. The rumors were really disturbing and hard to grasp. She chose not to believe people of the North could ever descend to such a level of deprivation until proven otherwise, but still she had to check the truth behind those words. She needed to find Jon.

The road to the Great Hall was long and she found herself quickly irritated by the enormousness of their castle. In the times of war, the distances should be little, because how else would any information reach its destination in time?

Though truth be told, she was irritated at everyone and everything; the castle was not to be blamed. She was irritated at Jon, whose mind was all over the place, but not where it should have been in her opinion. She was irritated at Daenerys for taking away all of her brother's common sense, for taking away her brother in general and replacing him with someone he was not. In spite of herself, she was also irritated at Tyrion for not coming to talk to her and for his and everyone else's apparent naivety. They all seemed to focus on the bigger picture, or rather one of them, forgetting that there were also smaller ones, almost equally important. Like Northerners coming to Winterfell, searching for protection and food. They could give them neither, in fact - when it came to the White Walkers, Winterfell was probably the worst location ever to take for a shelter, while the food would be enough for a long time for the inhabitants of the castle, but not for the whole North.

She remained the one to listen to people and their complaints, reigning over the North as the lady of Winterfell, which didn't mean much. All _they_ could talk about was the battle with the dead, the alliance with Cersei and Jon's heritage. The last revelation had seemed to change everything; of course it had been a shock for Sansa as well, but after a day or two she had come to her senses. If their primary concern was now the battle with the dead, they should stick to that and nothing else. Yet the two Targaryens couldn't figure out their current relationship, which created cracks in their supposed-to-be-common ruling. Sansa thought Petyr would probably have the greatest fun right now, watching them trying not to fight, seeping the sweet words of poison into Sansa's ears. Though she did miss him in some morbid and peculiar way she had decided that from then on she would do exactly the opposite of what he would have her do. And so she had chosen not to care about Jon being a Targaryen and she had even told him that for her he will always remain her older brother. But she couldn't not care about the fact they weren't listening to her yet again. She had told them it was foolish to believe a single word that had come from Cersei's mouth. She had told them their supplies were shrinking. She had told them what the common people from around Winterfell were saying to her. They didn't listen.

Her fate was slipping through her fingers yet again, not even in her possession, and she couldn't do anything to stop it this time. She had thought she would finally be free, but maybe in this wretched realm one could never be a master of one's fate. Maybe it was just a dream of naive young girls. But she wasn't a naive young girl anymore, was she?

She finally reached the Great Hall and as usual found there a meeting of the Queen's people. She had been invited only once after which they had stopped noticing.

"Your Grace, my lords." She curtsied before Daenerys and without wasting time looked at Jon. "I need to speak to you."

Jon nodded, his absent gaze lingering on Daenerys for a moment. Then he turned around and followed Sansa out of the Great Hall and into the corridor.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice tired and resigned. That was not the Jon she had known and had finally come to love.

"I've heard some dreadful rumors," she started, trying to get his attention and feeling her irritation grow. "I thought I would discuss it with you before doing anything about it."

"You are the lady of Winterfell, Sansa," he answered sadly, his eyes finally truly meeting hers. They bore deep sadness that didn't fade away when he smiled weakly at her. "I'm not even a Stark."

"You've never been one formally," she answered without hesitation.

"But now I'm even less of a Stark than before. I'm a Targaryen. I have no right to this castle, these people or any title in the North. North is yours and I'm sure you will rule it much better than I ever would." He sounded broken beyond the point of return. Did he lose faith in himself, his fate or everything in general? Where was the ruler who had been willing to jump into fire for his people?

Sansa stared at him for a moment trying to see through him, but finally gave up. It was probably better to come straight to the point now as any further discussion seemed pointless.

"People are starving," she said firmly and looked him sternly in the eyes. "They are coming to Winterfell, but we cannot feed them. We don't allow everyone in, which I think you probably know, so they are angry. And hungry. There are rumors that some of them..." she hesitated slightly before continuing, "...discovered a different source of food."

Jon frowned.

"What source?"

Sansa felt her heart was much heavier than usual when she finally answered.

"The travelers."

Jon needed a moment to grasp the meaning of these words. When he finally did there was only shock on his face.

"Northmen are eating people?" he asked incredulously, his eyes wide open.

"That's what I heard."

John laughed heartlessly after a moment of silence.

"What's so funny?" Sansa asked with indignation.

"Nothing, I just..." Jon shook his head and then looked at her with something akin to melancholy in his eyes. "Where are those days when you could focus on detesting me? When I was only Ned Stark's bastard and you were a soon-to-be princess? Why do the kids from back then have to deal with things like cannibalism, Night Kings and Iron Throne?"

Sansa sighed. Was the past his one and only escape nowadays?

"I don't know, Jon, but I do know we have to do something about it. Or at least check if it's really true."

"Of course. I think you should check it."

Sansa waited for any continuation, but it never came.

"And?" she asked finally, barely able to contain her irritation.

"And you don't have to go through me with such issues. I trust you'll make good decisions."

She stared at him for a while with deep disbelief in her eyes, then finally spat: "Fine, don't bother. I'll handle it myself."

She turned on her heels and walked away quickly, angrily.

Jon watched her for a moment. It was for the best, for the people of the North. They were already distrustfully inclined towards Daenerys; once they found out that he was a Targaryen as well, they would turn their backs on him. They will stop listening, respecting, looking up to him. But if they had a Stark that didn't disappoint them as far, who always did her best to keep them safe and sound, they will know who to turn to. Sansa had to earn their deepest devotion and there was no other way than letting her rule all by herself, to let her be the Queen in the North in her own right, although without the title itself.

There was no other way.

Sansa disappeared from his sight, turning right into another corridor. She was infuriated and agitated, practically fuming. Bursting into a dining room, she didn't even look at the people around before commanding: "I have a task for you."

* * *

Looking at five men staring at him Bronn sighed and put his hand on a hilt of his sword. He was certain in the normal circumstances he would take care of them on his own, but now, not completely defrosted, with his hands shaking from the long ride and the dreadful cold that still didn't leave him entirely, he suspected it would be a quick combat.

Sensing the weird silence that fell Jaime turned around from the fire and looked at the men that were staring hostilely at Bronn.

 _Fuck._

He stood up and walked up to Bronn, so he was now facing the thugs as well. He quickly assessed the situation and calculated their odds; they still had a chance to get out of it without killing anyone or getting killed themselves.

"There is no need for a bloodshed," he said calmly, looking at the men solemnly. "We can give you anything you find worthy and we'll just go our way. How does that sound?"

The men smirked. Bronn and Jaime exchanged anxious glances; they both felt the situation didn't look good.

"We ain't interested in yer gold." One of the cutthroats stood up and spat some sticky saliva onto the table. He was a muscular youngster of approximately twenty-two years and looked like there was nothing he would fear. His accent was northern, although much stronger than one could usually stumble upon.

"So what are you interested in?" Bronn asked, trying hard to keep his hand steady on the hilt. He didn't like this situation in the slightest.

The man's face distorted in a grimace resembling a crooked smile.

"Winter came. We need food," he answered.

"We'll give you money to buy some," Jaime offered, feeling like there was a need for a bloodshed after all.

"There is no to buy," the man snapped. "Winter took everything and those who still have it ain't willin' to share. Gold's shit now. And the fuckin' highborn cunts don't want us into them walls. We need usin' what we can."

Jaime and Bronn processed the information for a moment until they understood the meaning of it.

"From all the possible misadventures we had to find cannibals." Bronn's voice was filled with disbelief and heartless laughter as he pulled his sword out from its sheath. "Guess your non-killing policy can go fuck itself."

"Agreed." Jaime nodded and drew his own sword.

The other men also stood up and revealed their various weapons - knives, daggers, hammers, small axes. In the meantime, the host managed to hide behind the counter. Jaime thought the innkeeper had to cooperate with the cannibals to stay alive, but apparently didn't approve of their actions enough to join them now.

"And I thought the Dothraki were barbarians," Bronn muttered, ready to strike his sword any time now.

"We're all barbarians in certain circumstances." Jaime watched the men bare their teeth in gruesome caricatures of a smile.

"That's not especially comforting," Bronn grumbled.

"You want comfort? Here it is - we have a great chance of dying here and now. And if we die, they will never know the truth."

One of the men jumped onto the table and in the next moment charged at Bronn with two knives in his hands. Bronn shielded himself with a sword and punched his opponent's face with his free hand. The man staggered and his jaw turned red, but it was all. Bronn realized they truly were dreadfully weak now as his blade slid down the knives, its tip quickly making contact with the floor. He cursed loudly, knowing he will have to use both hands to take control over his sword. It was no joke now.

"That's all you're worried about?" he hissed, grabbing the sword firmly and pushing it towards the thug. In normal circumstances, he would hit him under the sternum, but now he barely scratched his side. In the same time, another man appeared to Bronn's left and stormed at him with an ax, forcing him to duck to avoid being sliced. Using his bent position the first fighter knocked him out of his feet. The sellsword fell heavy on the ground and had to stifle a moan as both his bones and the wooden boards creaked in protest.

Two other men charged at Jaime with a force of wild beasts. His sword now seemed much too heavy to hold it in one hand, so he made a support of his right arm, holding it beneath his left forearm. His first blow was successfully blocked by the Northman's hammer; the two metals clashed with a sound that resonated in his head for moments to come. The force of the collision almost made him drop his sword. His other attacker tried to swing at him with a sharpened tusk, which Jaime saw in the last moment and barely managed to avoid it. The weirdly looking weapon scratched his cheek and he felt the stinging pain there, combined with a stream of blood running down his face. Trying to take advantage of his momentarily lack of concentration, the tusk-man struck again, this time with a knife; Jaime wasn't sure where exactly he aimed, but the knife landed on the golden hand, cutting the glove and stopping at the metal with the clashing sound. The attackers froze for a moment, completely dumbfounded. With a good dose of morbid satisfaction, Jaime managed to throw the knife out of the man's hand and thrust the sword into his body. The steel cut through the tusk-man like a knife through butter. With a bewildered expression he looked down at the blood escaping his body and then at his companion, who quickly managed to compose himself and was already swinging his hammer at Jaime with a wild roar.

In the same time, Bronn succeeded in swiftly getting on his feet and making a surprise attack on the first opponent, slicing his abdomen open. Blood spurted on the floor while the man's insides fell out even though he desperately tried to keep them where they belonged, clinging to life. Bronn smiled smugly at the remaining attacker, which turned out to be a mistake; their leader came out of nowhere and punched him in the face with such a strength that for a moment his vision turned black. He felt hot blood filling his mouth. He needed some time to recover, knowing full well that will be his end. In the next second, he received another blow that hit him under the ribs. He didn't see the attack, but he suspected it wasn't performed with bare hands as he doubled from the pain that seemed to be too much to handle. Another struck from behind and he found himself on the floor again, this time facing the wooden boards. One of the men sat on his back, pinning him to the floor and making him unable to move. That was the end, wasn't it?

Jaime managed to dodge the hammer twice or thrice, trying to mount an attack himself and failing every single time. The adrenaline pulsing in his veins kept him alive as far, but now the tiredness began to overwhelm him once again. The sword was even heavier than before and while he focused on avoiding the hammer, the weighty blade made his movements slower. Soon he didn't manage to duck entirely and the weapon came into contact with his right forearm. It didn't crush the bone, barely nicking it, but it was Jaime's sensitive spot and for a moment the pain took his senses away. He had known pain much worse than this one, but not in a middle of a fight when he was already exhausted, too exhausted to get over it, even though any moment of delay in coming back to combat could cost him his life. Back when he had lost his hand he had been broken and damaged beyond the point of return, but Locke's men wouldn't have killed him as he had been too valuable to them. Now he knew he was going to die being nothing more but the flesh the cannibals desired.

The man laughed hoarsely, threw the hammer away and kicked him in the chest. Jaime doubled over, fighting for a breath, desperately wishing he had his armor now. There was no air in his lungs as he struggled to breathe; he forgot about everything else until the man grabbed him by his hair and soon his face came into contact with the attacker's knee. Then, the thug let go of him and he fell on his knees, sticky blood flowing down his face from all over. His vision went red as his mind focused only and entirely on the pain. There was nothing else but pain, exhaustion and a lack of air. For a moment he wished to die, to finally be freed from it all.

Bronn tried to struggle using the remains of his strength, but to no avail. Unable to move, he felt the cold and sticky touch of the floor that was covered with blood, blood that attacked his eyes, ears and mouth. There was also pain, the weight of the man straddling him, tiredness, cold, hunger. Something in him begged to give up, to come back to what the winter had offered them already - some sweet oblivion, a blissful death. He hadn't been the one to give up, but this fight was already lost and there was nothing he could do to change it. Focusing on the sounds coming to him from behind, he realized Jaime stopped struggling as well. Suddenly, a gasp escaped his mouth as he felt a sudden, sharp pain piercing his right hand. He looked at it and froze. There was a knife sticking from his hand. A fucking knife that went right through it.

"How'd you like our bloodshed?" the leader of the pack hissed in his ear, but Bronn didn't even hear him, focused only and entirely on the blade in his hand. His mind was slowly getting foggy and he started wondering how Jaime had felt when his hand had been cut off. Maybe soon Bronn will know it as well.

The other man stood above Jaime waiting for him to finally succumb to the floor. When he didn't, the thug decided to use the weakness seen before - he twisted Jaime's right arm all the way to his back and in one swift movement detached his golden hand, then kicked him roughly and examined the shining loot. Jaime fell on the ground which was now a pool of blood, his whole arm limp and unable to move. Paradoxically, it awoke a part of him that still wanted to fight, that still didn't want to give up. He forced himself to lean on his left arm and managed to slightly lift himself from the ground. When the thug noticed his attempts, he just laughed again and punched him with the metal hand, although much harder than Bronn had done it years ago. Or maybe Jaime was just too beaten up to bear it. The floor welcomed him yet again. Another blow coincided with a sudden outburst of piercing cold; the freezing air embraced him tightly and greeted him like an old friend, enabling him to escape into numbness. Everything went dark.

Bronn noticed the door being opened; he saw a tall figure standing there, but his vision was red and blurry, so he couldn't distinguish any features. The cold crept to his body and he felt like coming back home. There was another sharp pain resulting from a withdrawal of the knife from his hand. Bright blood sprang from the wound and he lost consciousness.

* * *

Brienne opened the door to the inn and came to a halt in the threshold. She definitely didn't expect to see a slaughter, but apparently that was it. The whole floor of the small room was covered with blood, in which four bodies lay. Three men were still standing; they looked at her wide-eyedly, resembling some wild animals much more than human beings.

"I come here on behalf of the lady of Winterfell," she announced, scrutinizing the men. "She demands..." The words halted in her throat as she saw what one of the men was holding in his grasp.

A golden hand. Bloodied golden hand.

Her eyes swept the floor and soon it was not only words that stopped suddenly.

The men didn't wait any longer for her to finish the sentence, charging at her with fury. When the opponents' weapons collided with her sword all she saw was an image of Jaime Lannister lying lifeless on the floor in an ocean of blood.


	2. Guide Me Home

**A/N:** Thank you all for reading and reviewing, it means a world to me! I didn't expect it would take me a month to correct this chapter, and I also didn't expect it to turn out the way it did, but it kinda wrote itself. Hope you won't be disappointed with the results. I think I managed to discover with this chapter that I grew into a very detailed writer (don't know if it's a good thing or not, I guess it's for you to decide).

Enjoy and let me know what you thought!

* * *

 **II**

 **Guide Me Home**

Pod wanted to join the fight, he really did, but before he figured out the best way to make a move it was already over. Three men joined the bodies lying on the floor, making the pool of blood even deeper and darker. In the dim light of the room the crimson seemed to set the ground ablaze, taking all other shades inside and suffocating them. He was hypnotized by it, unable to look away. The blood devoured him as well.

Brienne wouldn't think about admiring it even for a second; the moment she saw the last man dropping onto the floor she quickly moved towards Jaime. The fight had been easy and she had weathered it without any problem, basically forgetting about it the moment it ended.

"Stop the bleeding," she shouted towards Pod as she passed Bronn. The bright blood was still flowing from his hand, ejected in rhythmic, regular pulses. The squire tossed himself forward and put the pressure to the wound with his own fingers, even more mesmerized as the blood got all over him as well. The light from the candles danced on the surface of the scarlet sea, casting an eerie glow over everything around.

Brienne's head was filled with all kinds of thoughts she didn't want to let in as she knelt next to Jaime's body and, with her heart beating quickly and loudly somewhere in her throat, checked for any signs of life. She rolled him onto his back and sought for his pulse, in the same time watching his chest, desperately wishing for it to move, for him to breathe, for him to be alive. Finally, after what seemed a whole eternity, she felt a beat and saw him take a shallow breath. A sigh of relief escaped her mouth; he was alive. Realizing her own breath was now shakier than Jaime's, she leaned heavily against the wall and sat down trying to calm her speeding heart.

"Is Ser Jaime alive?" Podrick asked, having finally broken free from the spell the blood put on him. The sleeves of his clothing had already soaked and he was starting to get cold.

"Yes," Brienne answered, only now able to think clearly. He was alive.

But what was he doing here so soon, without Cersei's army to follow? This was the basic question she would have to ask him once he was awake, but for now she had to focus on the time being. She knelt beside him yet again and examined his body for any mortal wounds. It was hard to distinguish where his own blood was coming from, but eventually she figured it out - it was only his right arm and face, nothing lethal. More dangerous, though, could be the fact he was so dreadfully cold, like he had already met with death and barely escaped its clutches...

She sat him up leaning his back against the wall and, instinctively, removed her thick cloak to cover him with it tightly. Pod, watching her, decided not to wait for her orders and do the similar thing for Bronn, but unlike Brienne, who was focused entirely on the Lannister knight, he noticed there were cloaks and furs everywhere around them, lacking their respective owners. They probably had to be cold and heavy with blood, but the squire decided it would still be better than nothing. Keeping the pressure on the wound, he managed to strip the nearest body of its cloak and covered Bronn with it. It wasn't an easy thing to do with only one free hand, which prompted some feelings of awe towards certain one-handed knight.

For a moment Brienne watched Jaime carefully, dreading that if she moved away, he would die unnoticeably for her. But she had to move, to do something to get them out of here as soon as possible. They needed food and warmth, their wounds had to be cleaned and dressed, and they could get it all only in Winterfell. Winterfell that might not be especially eager to welcome two travelers from King's Landing. But it was not Winterfell or even the whole North that counted, only the Starks. Sansa was smart; Brienne was sure she wouldn't mind taking both knights to the castle, especially now in light of the alliance, even if the lady had her own opinion about it. On the contrary, their abrupt arrival might prove Sansa's point, so it was only proper to bring them there. This way Brienne justified her heart's decisions by her duty and now could act with clear conscience.

Suddenly there was a rustle coming from behind the counter, making Brienne jump on her feet and draw her sword once again.

"Who's there?" she asked, gesturing to Pod to stay where he was.

A man appeared from where the rustle had come from, holding his hands above his head as a sign of surrender.

"I'm just the innkeeper, m'lady," he whispered, his voice slightly quivering as he took in the slaughter extending right before his eyes.

"What kind of a host are you if you let your guests be slaughtered under your own roof?" she asked angrily, hiding her sword into its sheath.

"I... they... they would kill me..." The man's eyes wandered over the floor with some morbid fascination.

"We'll take you to Winterfell. You will answer for your crimes before the lady of Winterfell," she said firmly, cast one look at Jaime and decided it was time to move. "Go fetch their horses," she ordered Pod and knelt next to Bronn, replacing her squire at his station as he left the inn.

The ex-sellsword was even colder than Jaime and much paler; even the dimness of the room couldn't obscure the fact he didn't look good. The time was running away as quickly as his blood.

"You, come here!" she shouted towards the innkeeper. She couldn't let any more blood to be lost and therefore she needed help.

She didn't have to repeat the calling twice as the man appeared by her side immediately. He was tall and muscular, much younger in closer proximity than she had initially thought. Basing on his built he should have been much stronger than Pod and thus of a good use.

"What's your name?" she asked him, feeling the beat of her heart attune to Bronn's pulse as she continued to apply the pressure.

"Manny, m'lady," he answered, bowing his head. She didn't bother telling him she was no lady.

"I need a bandage," she said, looking at him expectantly. He nodded and without hesitation tore a sleeve of the nearest body's shirt, made a long stripe out of the obtained material with a use of the knife he found on the floor, and handed it to her. She wrapped it tightly around Bronn's hand, cursing the situation in her mind. Despite the reason, the sense of duty and practically everything but her heart she had thought about Jaime finally coming to Winterfell at least multiple times, but in no scenario it was in any way similar to what she encountered here. The fate was a cruel master.

After finishing wrapping the material she assessed the bandage carefully. The flow of blood seemed to be contained, at least for now. That could give them some time, but not much.

Pod came back, slightly panting.

"Their horses are gone, my lady," he said, catching his breath. "The harnesses were cut off."

"The horse is a good meat as well," the innkeeper slipped before Brienne could speak up. Both Brienne and Podrick looked at him in a way that conveyed a very clear message - prisoners should remain silent.

Brienne sighed and straightened up. They had two horses for five people, from which at least one needed immediate medical attention. She would very much like to leave the host behind, but she had promised lady Sansa to bring the culprits to the castle. She couldn't let her down.

"Fetch our horses, then," she ordered and Pod went out once again, his steps in the snow suddenly all too loud in the silence of the night.

"You'll help us, Manny, and we will say a good word about you to the lady of Winterfell," she said firmly and the host nodded. She knew he would listen from now on - Winterfell offered a lot of things the village people around it couldn't have. And even as a prisoner, he would be warm and fed; why would anyone refuse such a possibility? "Help me with him," she said and threw Bronn's arm around her shoulder. Manny did the same with the knight's other arm. Together they made their way towards the open door of the inn. Brienne looked briefly back at Jaime to check if he was still where she had left him. Somehow it didn't feel right to lose sight of him right now.

Without much trouble they moved Bronn out of the building and waited until Pod brought their horses. Podrick, being a smart boy he was, led his own horse before Brienne and made it kneel.

"You'll manage?" she asked him without much concern, scrutinizing his smaller than Bronn's frame. He had to manage.

"I will, my lady." He nodded without hesitation.

"Good. You go first."

Pod frowned, but knew better than to question her orders. Once he mounted his horse, Brienne and Manny sat Bronn behind him. The sellsword's body fell hard on Podrick's back, for a moment overpowering him; the young squire was tough on the inside, however, and he managed to put a brave face on it, straightening in his saddle with a satisfied smile. His horse had some problem getting on its feet, but it was a strong stallion from the North, accustomed to difficult circumstances and arduous work, so it finally stood up and neighed to indicate it was ready to go.

Brienne already had everything planned in her mind; the ghastly light of the moon only reasserted her decision. Bronn's face was dreadfully pale, getting whiter with every passing minute. It wasn't a fault of the frail light, even though in the darkness his pallor sharply contrasted with their surroundings. She looked at the bandage she had impromptu created - it was soaking with blood.

She had seen men dying from a smaller loss of blood. Bronn didn't have much time. For a moment she wondered whether it wouldn't be better to strap Bronn to her horse and let Pod lead the horses back to Winterfell, to both save Bronn and get help; but it would probably last longer and there was always a threat of the Northerners not granting them any assistance once they heard the aforementioned help would fall to the Kingslayer. To Jaime. She wasn't going to take such chances.

She lifted her face to Pod, who patiently awaited further orders.

"You'll go now as fast as you can. If anyone stops you tell them I'll explain it later. Put ser Bronn in the first empty bed you'll find and get him a maester. There's no time to lose."

Pod nodded, feeling the graveness of the situation. The last thing he would want was for Bronn to die. He gently stroked his horse's neck and nodded towards Brienne one more time. He wasn't going to fail her.

They rode away into the night, quickly disappearing in the darkness. Brienne watched them for a few seconds, then turned around to the remaining man.

"Gather the furs from the dead," she told him, coming back inside. They needed cloaks in Winterfell; the winter was getting worse and worse, while the only thing they were producing was weaponry. No clothing, though a number of people who sought shelter and warmth in the castle was ever growing.

The host obeyed, followed her and started to roughly strip the bodies of their outer clothing. In the same time, Brienne returned to Jaime. He looked like crap, but at least crap that will stay alive. If cared for quickly, that was. Looking at him in such a state she had a brief thought that right now he resembled more the Kingslayer she had once been to escort back to King's Landing than ser Jaime she had always said goodbye to. Something in her hoped it was a good sign. Maybe they wouldn't have to say goodbye this time, at least not for a good while.

"What to do with 'em, m'lady?" Manny asked after a minute. She turned around and looked at him. He was barely standing, weighed down by the furs, so many were there. Her horse definitely won't manage to carry her, Jaime and all of these. She stood up and examined them thoroughly; they were of good fabric and could definitely prove useful considering the winter was getting harsher with every single day, but right now they were covered with blood, which made them wet, sticky, cold and heavy. No good would come from wearing such a thing.

"Take with you as much as you can," she said, making a decision. "Leave the rest."

Manny nodded, threw one of the furs away and straightened up proudly. Brienne didn't really care how exactly he thought he'll succeed in it, as long as he was going to reach Winterfell in one piece.

"Leave them for now, we have to burn the bodies," she stated and started following her own order by grabbing the first body and taking it outside. Working quickly so as not to lose Jaime out of her sight for too long, they managed to transport the corpses in a matter of minutes and soon a fire was burning brightly in the midst of one of the darkest nights.

Brienne didn't waste time admiring the flames. She quickly turned away from the fire and returned to the inn. Now they would have to be in an even greater hurry - the blaze could draw a lot of attention from people or creatures no one would like to encounter. She came up to Jaime, first retrieving his sword and hiding it in its sheath. Then she lifted the knight by his shoulders and dragged him out of the inn. Once she was outside Manny noticed his absence and rushed to help her. He was more than helpful for a prisoner. She didn't really wish him to assist her with Jaime, but nonetheless accepted his help and soon the knight was seated on her horse. She was just mounting it herself when she remembered something really important.

"Wait here," she said and quickly came back to the inn. It was completely dark inside now as all the candles had been used to create the big fire outside; she had to work blindly. Seeing nothing and hearing only the damp sounds of her own steps interfering with the calmness of the red ocean, she knelt somewhere around Jaime's previous location and reached her hands towards the ground. For a long moment all she felt under her fingers was a wooden floor and sticky, cold blood. She wasn't going to give up though, and soon she stumbled upon a cold touch of something metallic. With a satisfied smile she picked the thing up and examined it carefully, her eyes now slightly accustomed to the darkness; it was just what she had been looking for. Jaime's golden hand.

Manny waited for her outside, having gathered all of the previously discarded furs. Brienne hid the hand in a satchel hanging from her saddle, mounted her horse and made it stand up. As with Pod's animal, this horse also had some trouble getting on its feet, but it managed. Jaime's body leaned on Brienne's back; she positioned herself the way she would be sure he won't fall from the horse.

"You'll have to walk," she informed Manny, who just nodded his head. He had to be expecting that as there was no surprise in his eyes. On the contrary, he quickly and briskly started his march, making Brienne astonished by his pace. Suddenly she realized he might wish to come to Winterfell not only because of the hovering cold and hunger, but also for protection. Maybe the owners of the bodies, now burning on the pile, weren't the only ones who had taken on cannibalism as their occupation. Looking around on the alert she followed her prisoner.

They approximately had a two-hour journey ahead of them, maybe shorter if Manny kept his current pace. Now, when the adrenaline pumping in her veins finally diminished, she had time for other thoughts and emotions. She had time to finally _feel_ the man on her horse, on her back. Her heart sped up a little as for a moment the close contact of their bodies was the only thing she experienced. Scolding the stupid organ she decided to focus on the less pleasant things, like the last memory she had of him.

Like their meeting in King's Landing. Like the way he had treated her back there.

Then and there, she had been hurt. Now and here, she was completely at peace with everything that had happened. Or rather she tried to convince herself she was, as pain still gnawed at her heart, although silenced by common sense. The heart seemed stronger than common sense, though.

She thought for a millionth time that she didn't have the right to judge him before listening to his reasons. And there could be reasons. Yes, he had behaved like a stranger she didn't know. Yes, he had been cold, angry and unfamiliar. Yes, she had expected better of him. But there were at least a few factors she considered to be to blame for such and not any other behavior.

First, they hadn't been alone there. The most important people in the whole Westeros had all been around and even though they hadn't been paying attention to her and Jaime's heated conversation, the Queen was. _His_ Queen. His sister, his lover. She had been watching, even more hateful than during their previous meeting. Brienne had felt Cersei's eyes on her, piercing her, killing her in the Queen's deranged mind with sophisticated cruelty all over again. Even now the sheer memory made her blood run faster. She wasn't a hateful woman, but recently Cersei had been steadily taking over the place in Brienne's heart that had once been occupied by Stannis Baratheon; the darkest corners of the Lady of Tarth's heart.

Second, she truly believed he hadn't agreed with his Queen's initial decision. She had been watching him carefully the entire meeting: she had seen his expression once the wight had been revealed, she had seen him terrified though ready to fight the dead, she had seen him not satisfied with how it all had gone. She hoped he had been battling his loyalties then as now the Man Without Honor was the Man With Honor and Cersei's behaviour had nothing to do with honor, common sense, morality. He hadn't wanted to betray the living, the right cause, maybe even her. He had acted through disappointment, bitterness and the prospect of a gloomy future that awaited them all, bound by loyalties he didn't want to be bound by. Even despite their harsh conversation she still believed all of that, she still believed in him and her faith was strong.

Third, as always, they had been enemies.

As always.

She sighed and focused on the road ahead of her. Whatever the truth, it didn't change a thing. She would never wish him dead, so they had to reach Winterfell sooner rather than later.

Deciding not to think about anything in particular and to simply ignore the weight of the body on her back, she followed Manny as they traveled to the castle. The innkeeper was surprisingly strong and managed to keep his pace. Soon they reached the gates.

Pod was waiting for her on the other side of the walls, his face bearing a worried expression.

"How is he?" Brienne asked quickly, dreading the worst.

"The maester said plenty of vessels were cut and he lost a lot of blood," Pod answered, taking hold of the reins. "If he survives the night, he'll live. But that's not so certain."

It didn't sound good. She really hoped they would get here in time to save Bronn, but apparently they might have been too late. It wasn't a place to dwell on it now, though.

Brienne looked at the guards standing near the gate.

"Dispose of the cloaks and take this man to the dungeons," she told them. One man reacted quickly, obeying the first part of her order, while the other two looked at each other uneasily. "What is it?" she asked, frowning.

"There is no room in the dungeons, ma'am," came the answer.

"There is no room anywhere," Pod added. "I put ser Bronn in my own chamber."

Brienne sighed and dismounted her horse, catching Jaime just in the right moment. She thought she heard him mumble something incoherently; maybe his consciousness was slowly coming back to him.

"Even the damaged parts of the castle are currently inhabited," Pod continued. "There are too many people looking for shelter."

Brienne knew that apart from the smallfolk coming to Winterfell, the real problem with quarters had arisen with the arrival of the Dragon Queen's people. Some of them had to camp outside, like the Unsullied who had settled a little west from the castle, but the Dothraki were hiding inside the walls, gathering around fires and shaking from the cold. She didn't realize the castle was already so overcrowded though.

"Fine," she muttered through clenched teeth, Jaime suddenly too heavy in her arms. "Help me with him," she said to Pod and he vigorously obeyed. Pod was Pod, she didn't mind having him help her with anything. "Find a place where you can keep this man guarded," she barked towards the remaining Northerners. Manny sent them a crooked smile as they looked at him quizzically.

Her job was to bring the prisoners back to Winterfell and so she had done; now it was their job to keep him here, which probably won't be a problem. She had to focus on other things right now. Or rather other people.

"Where are we..." Pod started, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as they made their way inside the castle.

"To my chamber," she cut him off, focusing only and entirely on the steps ahead of them. It wasn't an especially long journey, but when they finally reached her room, Pod was barely breathing. Brienne wasn't really tired, although she realized just now that she had been deprived of her outer cloak for the last few hours and hadn't felt cold even for a single moment.

They managed to insert Jaime in her bed, then let Maester Wolkan, who had previously been at Pod's watching Bronn, inside. Brienne took a position next to the door, straight as ever, watching the maester with wide eyes and quickly beating heart. Pod stood next to her and looked at his lady with worry.

After a brief assessment of all the injuries the knight had received - which for Brienne could as well last the whole eternity - the maester stood up and turned to her.

"He'll live. I need to clean and dress his wounds, and then you have to make him warm," he said, looking at Brienne. She shifted awkwardly at a sudden thought that shot through her mind after the words _make him warm_.

"Pod, you heard the maester." She turned towards her squire, suddenly unable to look at Jaime any longer. If she did, the thoughts would return. Highly disturbing, although definitely not unpleasant thoughts.

Pod nodded and busied himself with starting the fire in a cold hearth. Wolkan hesitated slightly before turning his attention to Jaime once again, which didn't escape Brienne's careful eyes.

"What is it, Maester?" she asked, still cautiously avoiding looking at Jaime.

"Forgive me, my lady..." the maester started, then fastened his gaze on where Jaime's right hand should have been, "...but isn't he... Ser Jaime Lannister?"

"Yes, he is."

"Don't you think..."

"I'll just be on my way to inform lady Stark of his presence here, if that is the reason for your concern," she said, hoping to do the aforementioned thing as soon as it was possible.

"Of course, my lady. I wasn't suggesting anything contrary." Wolkan bowed his head and came back to his patient. Brienne, feeling excused now, turned around and left the room.

Once outside, she closed the door behind her and stood for a moment in a dark corridor, ignoring people passing her, trying to breathe steadily. The thoughts were gone now, but worry reappeared. What if lady Sansa won't share any of her beliefs and will order her to remove them from the castle, in the best-case scenario? And what if...

 _Get it together, Brienne,_ she scolded herself quickly. There was no point in thinking "what if" and worrying about things that might not happen. So she straightened up and started walking towards Sansa's chamber. It was the middle of the night, so lady Stark should be there. Even if there still was some discussion going on in the Great Hall, Sansa had rarely been invited there. Considering Brienne's only allegiance was with the female representatives of house Stark and not house Targaryen, she didn't have anything to look for in the meeting chamber.

When she finally reached the right door, she felt uneasy again. She closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that in any circumstances lady Stark would be wise enough to listen to words of advice. Finally, taking yet another deep breath, she knocked on the door.

"Lady Sansa, it's Brienne," she said loudly. "I need to speak to you."

"Come in, Brienne."

The answer came quickly, so Sansa must have been awake. Brienne walked inside and found her lady sitting near the fire, staring at the flames. When Brienne closed the door behind her, Sansa turned around and looked at her expectantly.

"And? Was it true?"

"I'm afraid yes, my lady."

Sansa exhaled a deep, shaky breath, her eyes yet again focusing on the dancing flames. It was the truth she found really hard to accept as such.

"Did you manage to capture these people?" she asked, the fire casting a wavering shadow that somehow made her face glow.

"No." Brienne shook her head. "Some of them were already dead when we arrived and the rest chose to defend themselves and rather die than surrender. But I brought the innkeeper who let them feed on the travelers."

Sansa didn't answer. Brienne decided it was the right time to reveal the rest of her news.

"Shortly before our arrival they attacked two travelers from King's Landing," she said, keeping her voice steady.

Sansa's head snapped back towards Brienne.

"From King's Landing? Where they from the alliance?" Her eyes were wide, revealing the storm of thoughts that was currently flooding her mind. "If Cersei finds out about it, we're finished." She might not believe in the alliance, but still, if Cersei would like to find an excuse for breaking it such a situation was a perfect candidate.

Brienne hesitated.

"I'm... not sure."

Sansa frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"I..." Brienne didn't know how to say what she believed in without going too deep into her personal thoughts, opinions and hopes. She had never been a master of words and now she found it really difficult to come up with a smart answer. "I mean we were expecting them, my lady, but at the head of Queen Cersei's army, definitely not so soon. I believe the fact they got here now and without an army is a reason for doubt whether they still belong to the other side. To the alliance, I mean," she quickly corrected herself. There was no other side now, there was only the alliance. Probably. Maybe.

Sansa stood up abruptly.

"At the head of her army?" she repeated incredulously. "Who are they?"

She probably didn't have to ask, already knowing the answer, but it was better to hear the names with her own ears.

"Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater," Brienne answered and waited impatiently for Sansa's reaction.

Sansa chuckled and turned to look into the night beside the window, making Brienne unable to see her face. The lady knight budged uneasily, dreading the words that might come.

"My lady, I... I took the liberty of bringing them here. They were wounded and unconscious," she added after Sansa didn't answer for some time. "Pod arranged for a maester to check on them."

Lady Stark turned to her once more, her face wearing an expression of amusement. Brienne frowned, not understanding such a behavior.

"Will they stay alive?" Sansa asked, her lips forming a slight smile.

"Ser Jaime will survive, Ser Bronn might not make it through."

Sansa nodded, clearly assessing the situation.

"My lady..." Brienne started, but Sansa cut her off.

"You did well, Brienne," she said approvingly. "Don't tell anyone about them just yet. Come for me when they are awake, I would wish to talk to them."

Brienne nodded and awaited further orders, but they never came.

"You may go now," Sansa added, excusing her.

Brienne bowed her head both as a sign of understanding and as a goodbye, and left the chamber.

Once outside, she felt like some heavy burden was suddenly lifted from her shoulders. They could stay, she had done well. She will be able to hear him explain if he, of course, would choose to.

She came back to her room with a much lighter heart and in a better mood. Maester Wolkan was waiting for her in the corridor.

"I gave them both some poppy milk, so they will sleep deep and rest peacefully for a time," he said when she approached. "Tell your boy to watch Ser Bronn carefully, his condition might deteriorate in any moment. I'll come back in an hour to check on them both."

"Thank you, Maester." Brienne smiled at the man thankfully. He smiled back and then went his own way.

Inside her chamber she found Pod sitting on a chest near the foot of the bed, also waiting for her. The fire was dancing happily in the hearth and her fur was hanging above it, probably for drying from snow and blood it hadn't managed to soak with yet. And there was also Jaime, sleeping under a few heavy furs, his wounds cleaned. He looked much better now, although there was still some morbid glow to his skin.

"I brought all the things from your horse," Pod announced, bouncing to his feet. He showed her the satchel and Jaime's possessions lying next to it on the floor - his hand and sword.

"You did well today, Podrick," she said with a smile and watched as her squire beamed with joy. "Now go keep an eye on Ser Bronn and tell me the moment anything changes. Don't tell anyone else about the things that happened today."

Pod nodded and left the room still smiling widely. Brienne took his place on the chest and, looking at Jaime and seeing him breathe steadily, she finally allowed herself to stop worrying. Suddenly, when all the negative emotions disappeared, she felt tired and cold, the temperature and strain catching up with her. She had to do something to prevent herself from falling asleep, as it was a terribly long and tiring day. First, she carefully picked up the golden hand, cleaned it from blood and put it on a table near the bed, so it might become the first thing Jaime would see upon awakening. Then she took some rags, returned to the chest, drew the Oathkeeper from its sheath and put its tip onto the floor, leaning the hilt on her thigh. Cleaning the swords was a good task to help her stay awake.

But when Pod knocked on the door and came inside to tell her that Manny was still waiting near the gates for any lodging, he found her dozing over her sword, her forehead leaning against its hilt. He smiled at himself, covered her with a clean fur he found hanging in the closet and left the room, silently closing the door behind him.

* * *

Sansa was still looking into the night minutes or hours after Brienne had left her chamber, having completely lost the track of time. She felt satisfied and self-confident, in the same time muting the fury that was slowly, but steadily arising in her heart. The two knights coming to Winterfell now, alone, in some peculiar desperation, could mean only one thing. She had been right all along. And _they_ had been wrong to disregard her, as always.

But there was one thing she had to do before fully wallowing in her victory. There was one person she owed to ask for opinion when it came to Jaime Lannister being under their roof, under her more or less protection. Not Daenerys Targaryen, not even Jon, but someone who truly had a reason for not wishing the Lannister knight to be around.

She left the room and quickly walked to her brother's chamber. She didn't have to knock on the door to hear Bran wasn't sleeping.

"What are you doing?" she asked entering. Bran was sitting near the fire, while Arya perched on his bed, laughing.

"We're remembering," Arya answered, gesturing for Sansa to sit next to her. "Believe it or not, but our little brother has an excellent memory now. And he's ruining all the fun."

"I just correct your misleading memory." There was something akin to a smile on Bran's lips. Sansa suspected it was the closest thing to a real smile they will ever get from him.

"Sometimes it's better this way," Arya answered and for a moment they were all silent. Then Arya smiled mischievously and turned to Sansa. "What's bringing you to our humble threshold, my lady?" She stood up, faked a curtsy and sat down again. Sansa chuckled, feeling the fury slowly leaving her, replaced by a pleasant notion of home. Why would she ever care about _them_ if she had her family and her castle back? Even if only for a little while before they all die, it should be enough.

Bran's eyes flickered a little as he watched them smiling.

"She wants to ask if I mind Jaime Lannister being here," he answered for Sansa. She wasn't surprised he already knew that.

"Yes."

"Another Lannister?" Arya asked with disbelief.

"Yes." Sansa knew Arya wasn't very pleased with the fact her not-necessarily-ex-brother-in-law bore a Lannister name; she detested every member of this family, although Cersei had her own special place in Arya's pit of hellfire. Having to tolerate yet another lion around definitely wasn't for her taste. "Do you mind?" Sansa turned to Bran again.

"I don't." His face was expressionless as his eyes fastened on hers. As often, she had to restrain herself from shuddering and looking the other way, withstanding his gaze. "We are on the brink of the Great War. There are much more important things than dwelling on something that happened years ago between two people who are those people no longer."

"He pushed you out the window!" Arya exclaimed indignantly, not believing her own ears.

"I remember, but it doesn't matter now. It was the first step on my journey to becoming who I am now. The Three-Eyed Raven."

"You sound like you're grateful for that," Sansa noticed with slight amusement mixed with incredulity.

"It was meant to be. Maybe if he didn't push me out of that window, no one would push me towards the Raven. Towards the truth."

"Just don't thank him for that, we don't want to make pushing children out the windows his routine." She definitely didn't understand Bran right now, or the Three-Eyed Raven to be more exact, but she was glad of his answer. Somehow, she couldn't feel much resentment towards Jaime Lannister, maybe because of his love for Tyrion and his behavior towards Brienne, two things that seemed his redeeming qualities.

"Why are you acting like he's excused for what he did to us? To you?" Arya looked angry now, shifting her gaze from Bran and back to Sansa. "He should be punished!"

"There are different priorities now," Bran answered, unmoved.

"Do you have him on your list?" Sansa asked Arya.

The younger girl hesitated, but finally answered: "No. But he is a Lannister."

"As is my husband."

Arya rolled her eyes.

"He isn't your husband anymore. I don't know why you're protecting them. Do you want to be the dwarf's wife? A wolf turned into a lion, as you've always wanted." Her voice went dangerously low.

"You know it's not that simple," Sansa answered, sighing. She herself wasn't sure whether they were still married or not. Probably not, but that didn't matter; she didn't want Tyrion dead either way. Besides, she much more preferred to think she was the wife of Tyrion Lannister than the widow of Ramsay Bolton. The sheer memory of the latter made her shudder, cold shivers running down her spine. Sansa could tell Arya just that, but she wouldn't understand. She didn't know. "He is our ally and a good person. We need such people around."

"I don't like him." Arya shrugged like it explained everything.

"But you don't want to kill him." Sansa tried to remove hope from her voice and to sound confident of this opinion.

"No," Arya admitted. "At least not now."

"Promise me you won't hurt the Lannister brothers." Sansa grabbed her sister's hands and enclosed them within her own. "And I can promise you that if they ever betray us, you'll be the one to behead them." She really hoped it will never be a case.

Arya's eyes sparkled as she smiled viciously.

"Valar morghulis," she whispered. Sansa frowned.

"I don't know what it means."

"All men must die, sister."

There was a morbid flame dancing in Arya's eyes that first made Sansa slightly terrified, but then she reconsidered. She liked the phrase. Everyone will die soon, including those who wronged them. Including those she really wanted to see dead. And hopefully, not only men.

"Valar morghulis," she repeated, experimenting with the words, tasting the sound of them on her lips with an unexpected delight. She smiled and squeezed Arya's hands tighter, her eyes now blazing with a similar flame. "Valar morghulis, sister."


	3. The Truth You Need to Hear

**A/N:** It was supposed to be the shortest chapter, but during editing it transformed into the longest as far. Well... In my defense, I can only say that I love long chapters. Plus, you'll probably notice I don't stick to one POV for a scene from this chapter on. That's because I always have the need to show the emotions fo every side and I just can't keep them unwritten, hope you don't mind.

I still can't believe how much fun I have writing this story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Winter has already come to my place, so I can now relate more to the poor people of Westeros, yay! (I hate winter.)

Enjoy!

* * *

 **III**

 **The Truth You Need to** **Hear**

The first thing that reached his consciousness was warmth, or rather a notion of its blissful embrace. He felt it spreading pleasantly throughout his body which welcomed it like some old friend he had already forgotten had ever existed.

Then he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw once his vision cleared was a head of yellow hair and just like that he knew he was home.

He didn't realize he had just regarded Winterfell, or rather _her_ , as home.

She was sitting on the chest near the foot of the bed, busy cleaning a sword, _his_ sword. She had to sense his gaze on her as in the next moment she lifted her head and their eyes met.

"You're awake," she noticed calmly, putting the sword aside. Her face didn't show many emotions, yet he saw a flicker of something in her eyes, the blueness of which he had sometimes wished he could forget, before she averted her gaze. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse." He smiled bitterly. "You of all people should know it."

He used his elbows to change his position into half-lying half-sitting. The bed he found himself in was hard and uncomfortable, like practically everything in this wretched cold seclusion. But it was also warm, so warm, probably thanks to multiple furs he had been covered with.

He had no idea how long exactly he had been unconscious, but apart from hunger, slight pain and being a little numb, he felt excellent, like he had slept for at least a few days. The bones in his face hurt, as did his whole right arm and his chest every time he was taking a breath. But it was nothing compared to what he had once been through. And compared to the fact he had somehow managed to reach his destination alive.

Brienne watched him carefully as he was getting acquainted with his body afresh. He looked at her and felt gratitude flooding his whole being.

"You can't even begin to imagine how glad I am to see you," he said quietly speaking the sheer truth. Her expression didn't change, still being peculiarly stern and tense.

"I can't say the same about you," she answered and his spirits sank immediately. She straightened on her chest and looked down at him, her face firm and serious, the same as the tone of her voice was. Yet, her eyes were telling a completely different story, revealing concern and relief she either didn't want to or simply couldn't hide. This blueness had always been a mirror of truth, it wasn't able to lie. "I wasn't pleased to see you lying lifeless on the floor of some gods forsaken inn. Or to think you were dead."

Something flipped in his heart at these words. He was slightly surprised to hear her say so straightforwardly what she had been feeling and it probably disconcerted her as well, for she turned her gaze away, confusion present on her face. But she wasn't blushing, not yet at least.

"So you are glad to see me well," he countered with an apologetic smile.

"I suppose I am." One corner of her mouth went upward and for a moment they were just looking at each other. As her expression softened Jaime could now see practically everything she had been experiencing these past few hours - worry, relief, sadness, joy - not only in her eyes, but also in all her features. Her irises were screaming it all loud and clear as they gazed into each other, and for a few seconds he hoped they could get past what had happened in King's Landing without ever having to talk about it. But then she looked away, her big blue eyes he had missed so much no longer available for him to stare into, and he knew he had to face it. She deserved words of apology.

"Thank you for coming when you came," he said sincerely, the words awkward and unbalanced. _Thank you for saving my life, as you do so often without even knowing,_ he thought. She responded with a gentle smile. He didn't give her time to speak, continuing. "And I'm sorry." There were no simpler words to put it, yet somehow he knew they would be enough.

She looked up at him cautiously. Something changed in her gaze as she saw the devastating remorse in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

"For what? Almost dying?" She smirked, pretending not to know what he was talking about. The atmosphere loosened significantly, which probably was her point.

He chuckled.

"Dying wasn't exactly a part of my plan." He took a hurtful breath to continue, but suddenly a thought struck him, causing him to curse himself for being such an ungrateful bastard. "How's Bronn?"

"Alive," she answered after momentarily hesitation that made his blood freeze. "But not out of danger yet. He has to waken first."

Jaime closed his eyes heavily, shaky breath escaping his mouth. Guilt scraped at his heart, demanding his undivided attention.

"It isn't your fault." He heard her quiet voice trying to comfort him. It couldn't work though; she had good intentions, but it wasn't the truth. Bronn might have followed him only and entirely for the sake of the overdue castle, but all in all it had been Jaime who had taken the sellsword on this journey. "You didn't answer what you were sorry for," Brienne reminded him, apparently trying to swerve his thoughts from his companion. He had to obey, grateful for the distraction.

"For Dragonpit." He looked at her and thought for a moment that was just what she wanted to hear. He could say a lot about it, but somehow nothing seemed to make sense anymore. _Any gesture of kindness would cause Cersei to send the Mountain on you_? No, it just wasn't right. She would say there had been no reason for concern, because she would have handled it. "You were right from the start," he added instead, quieter, in a way admitting his defeat.

It was enough; probably, as he had suspected before, the apologies alone would have been enough. She smiled, but it wasn't a token of self-satisfaction. It was a sign of genuine contentedness that he had finally seen the truth and set his priorities the way they should have been from the very beginning. Somehow, she didn't need him to say it, she just knew he had already done it.

"Fuck loyalty, right?" He smirked.

"Fuck loyalty." She agreed with a soft chuckle.

For a moment they were just gazing into each other's eyes in silence. What truly needed to be said had already been said; now they could allow themselves a few seconds of just enjoying the company. It was enough for Jaime to forget about everything else - about Cersei, the Great War, Bronn, the Golden Company - as he was just drowning in the blueness of her eyes. He could stay like this forever.

Brienne was the one to break the moment.

"I promised lady Sansa I'll come for her when one of you awakens." She stood up abruptly.

"Sansa?" Jaime frowned. "Not the Dragon Queen or her wolf pup?"

"I don't serve them but Sansa and Arya," she reminded him. "Besides, lady Stark asked me not to tell anyone about you just yet."

"Auch, troubles in paradise?"

Brienne looked at him with a lenient smile.

"Think about what you're going to say to her," she said, wishing she could reveal more, but knowing that she couldn't yet tell him about Jon Snow's true heritage. There will be time for it, or at least she truly hoped so. "Weigh your words carefully."

He nodded, being painfully aware the Starks had plenty of reasons not to let him stay, even after hearing the truth, even despite him pledging his sword to the living. To the North.

"Will you stay? To hear what I have to say?" he asked, hope and slight plea slipping into his voice uninvited. He wanted... no, he desperately needed her to know everything as soon as possible. He would start now if he thought she wouldn't be conflicted about choosing to hear him out or to go find Sansa, as was her given assignment.

"I will if I only can," she answered and turned to the door quickly, to avoid his eyes. "I'll tell someone to bring you something warm to eat."

And then she was gone, leaving silent emptiness in her wake. Jaime stared at the door for a moment, wondering. Had it really happened or had he just dreamed of her, which would not be the first time he had done so? Somehow, it felt real. Her eyes, much bigger and bluer than in any dream. Her soft smile that made her face brighter, the smile he had always felt he was stealing from someone it should have belonged to, someone worthier than him. Her gaze that both scolded him for his wrong choices and conveyed joy from his arrival, wordlessly. All too real for it to be just a dream.

On the road to Winterfell, he had thought he would receive from her a slightly cold, semi-kind greeting, and nothing more. He had additionally convinced himself he had taken the North for his destination only for his honor and survival of the living, but now he slowly started to realize it might not have been the whole truth. Even if he couldn't have let himself think about receiving anything more, just a smile for example, he had hoped for it deep down. And subconsciously, he had also been coming here for _her_.

Maybe if he only got the imagined polite, yet distant greeting, the waves in his heart would be calm. But nothing was like he had envisaged it, including the cannibals he had definitely not taken into consideration, and the waves weren't calm, threatening to break on the stony shore and drown him. His heart reminded itself and him in the process of something he hadn't experienced since their meeting at the siege of Riverrun. He hadn't let himself feel these things in Dragonpit, because it would have been too dangerous for her. But now...

Now the waves battled, two conflicting points of view trying to prevail. The first one was telling him that now she was among her own. Now they had only days or weeks to live, probably, for the chances of survival in the face of such a dreadful enemy seemed to be really scarce. Therefore, now there was nothing to lose. He could let himself remember. And he could let himself feel.

But the second one was much more cautious. It didn't matter that she was among her own, feelings had always been as dangerous and sharp as Valyrian steel blades. He knew something about it; he still wore the scars. Feelings were much better kept at bay, in the safe confinement of the heart. Yes, they should have definitely stayed hidden. He just shouldn't look into her eyes for long. Or remain in her presence in general.

Sighing, he fell onto the bed and groaned as his ribs cried out.

* * *

Brienne would love to hear his story as soon as possible, but she had promised something to her lady and as always she was going to keep her word. She had to find Sansa, even though the only thing she wanted was to stay with Jaime in her own room and just... and just be there with him. For once without any immediate threat hanging above their heads, without any conflicting duties they had to put first. There was only the Great War now; no oaths, no houses, no sides. Just the Great War.

And even though it was supposed to be the greatest and most disastrous war in the history of mankind, she felt in peace.

The castle, clad in the daylight, was much more lively than during the night. All kinds of people bustled about, gathering to receive new weapons made of dragonglass, to learn how to fight, to beg for another portion of food. Passing them, Brienne briefly wondered about Manny the innkeeper, who had probably got forgotten in the midst of much more important matters. Winterfell hadn't been so alive since Eddard Stark had gone south, or maybe not even then. Which was slightly morbid in light of the fact that soon, as it was the second point of defense against the White Walkers, it might become an empty ruin or a massive tomb. It was only a matter of days before they travel north to the Wall and leave Winterfell to either await their return or its own turn in the fight.

Brienne herself didn't believe all those gravely spoken predictions. She had hope for victory, for survival. Nothing was ever lost if there was still some fight left and there was a lot of fight in these people.

She found Sansa in one of the smaller halls which was now adjusted to receiving the Northmen. To her slight surprise, Brienne discovered she just walked into a discussion concerning the events of the last night. Not the arrival of Jaime and Bronn, of course, but the cannibal issue. She spotted Manny standing in the corner of the chamber, probably already accused of cooperation given the hostile glances the Northerners were casting towards him. Seeing him Brienne felt a sting of guilt. _This_ had been her yesterday's task, not attending to her heart's desires. There might have been a duty she had failed. But, even though she felt a touch of shame, she knew that if anyone took her back in time, she would have behaved in exactly the same way.

"My lady," she said loudly enough for Sansa to hear, nodding her greeting to the gathered heads of northern houses and the lady herself.

"My ladies, my lords, you will have to excuse me now." Sansa smiled and stood up. There was something royal in her, authority radiating and influencing everyone around; it made Brienne wonder whether Catelyn Stark had realized her daughter would really grow up to be a queen. Not of Westeros, but of the North, which for the Starks was probably much more important. "There are other issues I have to attend to."

The Northmen bowed their heads in respect as Sansa walked past them with a gentle smile. Brienne noticed she wasn't the only one who felt admiration towards the young lady. She hadn't known Eddard Stark, but she suspected his lords had had to look at him the way some of them were now looking at his oldest daughter. At their leader.

Sansa walked out into the corridor and Brienne followed her.

"Ser Jaime is awake," Brienne announced after making sure they could speak freely.

"Good," Sansa answered, her voice firm, already prepared for whatever conversation she was about to have. "Lead me to him."

As they walked the long and noisy road back to Brienne's chamber, the Lady of Tarth pondered on the right words to use if she would be put in the position of having to defend Jaime's rights to fight for the living. She had already told Sansa once or twice that he was no longer the man he had used to be, but it might prove not enough in the current situation. Strong arguments were needed. She felt slightly nervous again. She caught herself thinking with complete confidence that the alliance was over and they came to announce just that, while nothing was yet set in stone. Yes, he had mentioned fucking loyalty and had told her she had been right all along, but she could have read it the way she wanted to, not the way it truly was. Hope and her utter faith in his sense of right and wrong might have clouded her judgment. Maybe they simply had gone so ahead of their army that it didn't arrive yet but will soon. Maybe everything she considered crucial now will not even be necessary if they had come here on behalf of the Queen. Maybe.

She knew one thing for sure - she just wanted to hear what he had to say, as soon as possible, because both her head and her heart now hurt too much not knowing what to think or feel. She needed concrete facts, not just suspicions or predictions. She needed the truth.

* * *

Having eaten everything they brought him, Jaime had nothing else to do but follow Brienne's advice and wonder how to put his story right for his sister-in-law. Or rather ex-sister-in-law. He had never truly wondered about it, but now it turned out to be a good topic to take his mind off everything that was hanging above him. Could his brother and Sansa still be married, concerning she was now technically a widow? Had their marriage been annulled so she had been able to wed the Bolton bastard or had it just been assumed that since Tyrion had been a fugitive and a traitor it automatically crossed him out of the list of spouses? Did they know the truth themselves?

But all in all... did they even care, in the midst of everything that was happening? Did anyone care about anything apart from wars, dragons, wights, Iron Throne and so on?

He sighed, his thoughts involuntarily subsiding into the Brandon Stark's pit. Focusing only on why he had been coming here he had carefully avoided the subjects that might have caused him to just turn around and choose Cersei as the lesser evil. Because here was Brandon Stark, thrown by him from the window. Because here was Daenerys Targaryen, orphaned already in her mother's womb because of him. And he would probably have to abase himself before them so they would let him stay. It was not the most joyful perspective.

He closed his eyes and tried to steer clear of the thoughts of the impending reckoning. There was a lot of things he would like not to consider right now, not when he was still slightly doubting he was really here, alive. Instead of dwelling, he looked around the chamber he had found himself in. It was harsh, cold and dark, as everything here in the North. The bed was the most prominent furniture, substantial enough to fit even three massive Northerners. There was also a little stone table with his golden hand on it, a hearth with fire slowly approaching the end of its dance, the chest, a closet, a few hangers on the wall with cloaks and a stand with an armor. _Her_ armor.

He frowned. Had she put him in her own chamber? There was no way to know for sure, as the only personal things here were the armor and her sword that had been leaned against the wall next to his own. The two swords reunited, both with each other and the place they belonged. Looking at them Jaime felt a notion of completeness, of fates meeting their ends. Oathkeeper and Widow's Wail - he had to change that name finally - together again, inside the walls Ice had once served. If there was such thing as justice, some godly one had happened here.

Breaking free from the swords, he examined the chamber again, this time not only with his eyes, engaging other senses as well. It had to be her room, he thought, as it somehow felt with her. Her scent, her honor, her determination. Everything.

He smiled to himself. There probably was a very sensible reason she had made such a decision; nevertheless, he felt warmth spreading through his heart. She had saved his life, cared for him and put him in her own bed. That was just delightful, making up for every misadventure along the harsh road to Winterfell.

A sound of the door being opened took him completely by surprise; analyzing Brienne's protectiveness over him he had managed to forget what he had been waiting for. But when he saw the Lady of Winterfell, who didn't resemble the Sansa Stark he had known, everything came rushing back.

"Lady Stark," he greeted her formally, standing up and bowing his head. His ribs reminded him immediately they won't appreciate any abrupt movements in the days to come, broken as they were. He was a master in hiding both physical and mental pain, though. Pain had been his best friend for the majority of his life. Besides, a few broken bones were nothing compared to, for example, losing his hand.

"Ser Jaime," Sansa reciprocated the gesture, her face stern and gravely serious. She looked just like her mother, although prettier and more capable of making hard choices. Knowing what kind of a woman Catelyn Stark had been, that was saying a lot.

"I would offer you to sit, but it is your terrain." He smiled softly, hoping to make a good initial impression. Never in his life would he have thought that one day he will be humbly groveling before Sansa Stark, especially not out of his own free will.

"It is. This is my home and my kingdom." She stated it as some supreme truth no one in their right minds would ever dare to undermine. "You are currently under my protection. Everything you say or do might make me reconsider and change my mind on your staying here."

She sat down gracefully on the chest, gesturing for him to sit down as well. Brienne placed herself next to the door, leaning against the wall.

"Thank you for..." Jaime started, suddenly unsure of how to continue. His eyes found Brienne, who smiled reassuringly, trying to send him enough courage and honor to let just the right words flow. He needed that, he needed her here to keep him on the right path. He would probably manage not to swerve even without her presence, but with her around everything was easier, much easier. "...granting me the benefit of the doubt."

Sansa nodded with unchanged expression. In this moment she reminded him more of Eddard Stark than her mother - diplomatically polite, composed posture with honor above anything else. The Tully wolf, truly. She had come a long road since he had last seen her - a sweet summer girl whose dreams had been shattered; broken but unbent, still naive and innocent. There was nothing left of that girl in the eyes of the woman sitting in front of him.

"We've come here to warn you," he started again, looking Sansa straight in these blue, cold eyes of hers. She needed to see his intentions were clear. "And to fight for you, if you would have us. Cersei..." he stopped, his eyes dropping to the stone surfaces around them. For a moment he felt like they were surrounding him tightly, suffocating him, demanding things he was not able to give. Demanding the truth he had told only Bronn, but Bronn was Bronn, and this was Sansa Stark. Speaking it out loud for her ears to hear will make it all real finally, will break the bubble of denial he had sometimes found himself creating. There already was no turning back, but saying the words will seal some decisions forever, closing one door while not necessarily opening any other.

Sansa gave him a moment seeing the obvious struggle he was going through. Cersei's image from years back appeared in his mind, smiling, inviting, tempting. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

 _No._

"Cersei tricked you. She was never going to lend you her forces for the fight with the dead," he said in one breath, opening his eyes abruptly. He looked at Sansa again as the image of his sister blurred and faded away, leaving nothing in its wake. Fading one last time.

Brienne noticed he had said "her" forces and not "ours", and smiled contently. She was proud of him.

"She plotted with Euron Greyjoy to deceive you all," he continued, now completely steady and calm. "He didn't abandon her, that was just a perfectly conceived deceit. She sent him to Essos, for twenty thousand men of the Golden Company."

Sansa's composed posture wavered.

"The Golden Company?" she repeated incredulously, shocked.

"Yes," Jaime confirmed. "The money from Highgarden enabled her to pay off the debts to Iron Bank and do so much more. They are her allies now." _Because of me,_ he thought bitterly, but didn't say it aloud.

Brienne anxiously visualized the road to Essos Euron Greyjoy might have taken. There was one lonely island, lying exposed on the brink of the Narrow Sea, completely vulnerable if faced with an enemy of such a scale. Then she remembered the disdain and hate in the Queen's eyes whenever they fell upon her. She felt her legs go weak as the terror spread throughout her like a wildfire.

"My lady," she said, barely managing to keep her voice steady. She had always been strong, both physically and mentally, but it was her father's life now that was at stake, her island's future, almost everything she had ever held dear standing at the edge of destruction. It might even be too late now; it could have already been ravaged, her father slain, her people suffering torture while she was here, safe inside Winterfell's walls. She should have fought alongside them, it was her duty. And if they had died, she should have died with them. "I need to send a raven to my father. I..."

"There is no need." Jaime looked at her with an expression she couldn't identify, nor cared about at the moment.

"What are you talking about, I..." she started angrily, but he cut her off again.

"I've already done it."

For a moment she froze, feeling like time suddenly stopped, then she got completely overwhelmed by the wave of emotions that flooded her.

"What?" she asked quietly, her throat dry, her eyes wide with hope and disbelief. Had he really done such a thing? For her father and her island? Or rather for her entirely?

"I stole a raven before leaving King's Landing and sent a message to your father," he explained, looking at her in a way that gave away a lot of his feelings. Hope, longing, devotion and... and something else, something she wouldn't dare to name even in her most intimate thoughts. "I owed you that."

She forgot all the words. With slightly opened mouth she just stared at him, feeling gratitude in such enormous quantity she didn't think was possible to experience. But there was not only gratitude. She wanted to thank him by expressing everything she was feeling at the moment, she wished to give him the whole world, even if it was not within her grasp. But not a single word left her mouth as they gazed into each other silently, their eyes having a discussion that required no words.

Sansa let them stay in this state of rapture for a moment, knowing full well they had simply forgotten about her presence. Finally, she cleared her throat, which made both of them look at her, although Brienne's gaze was absent as she seemed too lost in her own thoughts and feelings to focus on the outer world. Even though Sansa had never seen her lady knight in such a condition, she wasn't surprised - if someone told her that her father had been saved by the efforts of that person, she would wish to grant them their heart's desires without as much as a second thought, because it would be the happiest day of her life.

"What did you write to Lord Selwyn, Ser Jaime?" she asked, now fully convinced that love the man sitting in front of her felt towards his brother and apparently lady Brienne was more than enough to consider him redeemable. She had just been a witness to something special and it made her heart sting, even though she would never admit it to anyone, not even herself.

"I warned him about Greyjoy and the Company, summarized the current political and military situation, and urged him to come to Winterfell and pledge his sword to the North," he answered, his eyes shifting from Brienne to Sansa. "Now there's only a question whether he believed me."

"I'm sure we're both grateful to you," Sansa said diplomatically, looking briefly at Brienne. "We could definitely use Lord Selwyn's forces. There will never be enough men in this war."

Brienne couldn't believe her own ears. Not only might her father have been saved from the dreadful fate of being slaughtered by Euron Greyjoy and the Golden Company, which could not be an easy or pleasant death, but he might also be on his way here. She hadn't seen him for years and the idea of meeting him, not to mention fighting by his side, was more than she could handle. She tried to regain her usual composure, but she had never felt graceful in a field of emotions, especially not when they were coming in such an abundance and with a substantial intensity. It was too much.

At the same time, Sansa was thinking about Theon. What did it all mean for his mission to save his sister? A certain death, probably. Her heart sank a little at the realization.

"Cersei might not wait in King's Landing until the enemy comes to her," Jaime said, returning to the main subject, although still gazing at Brienne from time to time. She seemed to have found her footing, but still looked agitated and moved.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from her," Sansa answered bitterly. "She'll probably attack us from the south as we fight the dead in the north."

Jaime imagined the slaughter that would commence and decided it was quite a possible scenario.

"Probably yes," he agreed. Sansa allowed herself a small sigh, then quickly regained complete self-control and looked at him firmly. The conversation was over, the moment of judgment just came. He felt like her eyes were assessing his soul, weighing his intentions and words against the sins of his past.

"I do believe you," she said finally. "And I would have you fight for the North, but first you have to repeat your story before the Dragon Queen to get a place in her army fighting for the living."

Brienne inhaled deeply, glad her young lady behaved rationally and didn't crash her hopes. She hadn't been wrong to put her faith in Sansa Stark.

Jaime nodded, knowing without a doubt it will go much worse with Daenerys Targaryen. But the first step was already behind him and it lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. Even within the pack of wolves, the lonely lion could remain unbent. Or maybe he just wasn't as lonely as he had previously thought.

"Tyrion will probably vouch for you," Sansa added like she was reading his mind. "And she greatly values his opinions."

"If she proves to be half as generous as you, that would still be much more than I expected," he said sincerely, his eyes serious and grateful as he looked at Sansa. The visit was over, so he stood up and bowed his head in respect. "Thank you, Lady Stark."

Sansa granted him a restrained smile and stood up as well. Brienne, having a sensation of waking up from a really peculiar dream, watched them and felt like she was reuniting two pieces of her long lost family, being proud of both of them. She also both hoped and dreaded Sansa would leave her alone with Jaime; they needed to talk, yet she feared the consequences that might inadvertently arise from such a conversation.

"Stay here until I send for you," Sansa added on parting. There had to be a shadow crossing Jaime's face, because she frowned and asked: "What is it?"

Jaime hesitated for a moment, but decided to be straightforward. He owed that to the friend who had saved his life numerous times already and might have just sacrificed his own because of the mission the knight had hauled him into. _Or rather for the castle he had been promised_ , Jaime thought absently.

"I would like to visit Bronn if that's possible," he answered carefully. Sansa saw a genuine concern in his eyes; it would be cruel not to let him go and he himself had never been cruel towards her. And so she nodded her consent.

"Wear a hood, I don't want you to be recognized too early," she warned him and turned towards Brienne. "Walk with him to ser Bronn and come find me later." She headed for the door, but before leaving she looked at Jaime and said gracefully: "I do hope he will be alright." She had heard both Lannister brothers owed their lives to the sellsword-turned-knight and she truly meant what she had just said.

"I'm sure he would appreciate it." Jaime knew Bronn wouldn't give a shit about Sansa's concern for his well-being or lack thereof, but it was the right thing to say.

Sansa departed from the room, leaving them in a tight silence. Brienne felt uneasy, unsure of what to do, what to say, how to thank him, for nothing seemed to be enough in her mind. Jaime glared at her amazedly as in this state of confusion, gratitude and happiness, bathing in the winter sun that seeped through the window, she looked like some godly creature which his eyes were unworthy to gaze upon. Both of them didn't know what could befall now. Some good old bickering might loosen the atmosphere, but something undoubtedly had changed and there was probably no coming back from that line. Their relation transformed once and for all quite unexpectedly; they got thrown into a deep water without prior warning and the water now threatened to drown them both.

"Ser Jaime..." Brienne was the one to start, the words coming out with severe difficulty as her throat resembled some dornish desert.

Jaime grimaced.

"Don't you think we could finally drop the formalities? Considering everything we've been through..." He let his words hang in the air for a moment as a reminiscing smile appeared on his lips. "And let me inform you we are on the same side now, for the first time, in case you didn't notice."

"I did notice." She smiled at him weakly, but momentarily grew serious again. She should have told him no, because it was improper considering they were neither related nor married, and just gone on. She could ignore his words and simply continue, repeating the "ser" before his name so he would remember not to cross the unspoken line the next time. Or... Or she could just agree, tasting his name on her lips without his title like it was the most intimate act that had ever occurred between them.

A memory stirred in her mind, as vivid as it had been only yesterday and not years ago.

 _Jaime. My name is Jaime._

When she looked at him again, she was already quite positive that "proper" had never been a good word to describe their relations.

"Jaime, I..."

"Don't." He walked up to her and looked her in the eyes. She felt her heart speeding - he was definitely too close considering her current overflow of emotions. He experienced the very same thing and awkwardly took a step back. He couldn't gaze into her eyes from such a small distance, it seemed... dangerous, in its own special way. Like being too close to her meant the same as standing on the brink of some vast abyss where there was no control or restraints, no notion of what was proper or acceptable and what was not. "I didn't do anything noble enough to deserve anything you were going to say."

There was an abundance of thoughts rumbling in his head, but he didn't let them out. The room seemed to be filled with things they had wished they could have said for years already, but had never done it and probably never will; things they feared that once they got out, there will be no stopping them and the consequences might be dire. They both felt they had no right to change the other's life like that. And so they dreaded to speak the utmost truth aloud, their common senses taking charge of their hearts.

"Anything noble enough?" She looked at him incredulously, her eyes wide. "I'll be forever grateful for saving my father and even if he didn't believe you, I'll be grateful for the sheer trying." She really thought her father had believed whatever Jaime had written to him; she had mentioned all the good deeds the Lannister knight had executed towards her, so Selwyn Tarth should have been at least open-minded about the prospect of trusting this one particular lion. "So don't tell me..."

He couldn't see these feelings in her eyes, he just couldn't, because they were breaking him apart, the knowledge he didn't deserve any of that cutting him to pieces. He had to stop the voices shouting in his head, he had to stop whatever was going on here, happening so quickly he could barely breathe, which probably would be difficult even without a few broken ribs.

"Cersei's with child," he burst suddenly, his face showing nothing but pain. There, he ruined the moment once and for all; it will never come back, not like this, not with this absolute trust and devotion in her big blue eyes, because nothing will ever be fine again. She will know he was not the person she considered him to be, because she had to know. He had never been that person and will never be, that was the sad truth he had come to know, and now so will she.

She looked at him entirely confused. It was too much of everything in too little time. Yesterday at the similar hour she wouldn't have thought he would ever leave his Queen, and yet here he was, having traveled a long and dangerous road to finally fight for the right side; here he was, evoking all these peculiar emotions she wasn't even able to name which she had felt only around him; here he was, telling her his sister and lover was pregnant, surely with his child. It was too much to fathom.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.

He could tell her everything he had thought before. He could tell her he owed her the truth, he owed her his life, he owed her everything. He could do that. Yet, he knew such words wouldn't come in isolation and some others would follow that neither of them was prepared to hear or say.

"Because I thought you needed to know," he just answered, his throat so dry he thought he wouldn't utter even these few words. _Don't push it,_ he begged her in his mind which found this confrontation much more challenging than yesterday's encounter with the cannibals, even though not so deadly.

There was a moment when he just gazed at her and she could truly see inside him. He was lost, broken and vulnerable, but in such a different way than the one she had already seen. Something in him begged for forgiveness, while something else entirely vehemently tried to prove her he was not worthy of it.

She stared back at him speechlessly; the words failed her, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours.

"Let's go find Bronn," he whispered, turning his back on her as he could stand this look she was giving him no longer, these mesmerizing eyes of hers filled with uncertainty and misunderstanding as she frowned, trying to find her stand in all that, trying to come up with the right answer, with anything.

What was he expecting her to say? Or rather would like her to say as she doubted he expected anything right now from life in general, and especially not from her. _That's fine? I don't mind? I forgive you? You should forgive yourself first?_

But she neither knew what she felt nor thought there was anything to forgive. She wasn't his betrothed to take it personally; she had always known about his incestuous relationship, therefore it wasn't even surprising. So why didn't she know what to say? Why didn't she just casually comment on it like it was nothing for her? Why didn't she even truly consider what she could tell him, but focused on the pain she had seen in his eyes, the pain that had somehow spread to her heart as well?

Jaime felt like an idiot. Once again he thought that Cersei had been right and he was the most stupid Lannister. Maybe his deed had been tremendously foolish and much too personal for their relation, whatever that might be. But the last thing he would ever want to happen was to lie to her or let her trust him in a way he definitely didn't deserve.

"I think it's a good idea," she finally answered, knowing she won't find her footing when they were the only two people in a room. She suddenly wished the matters of the heart were as easy and straightforward as being in a combat - fighting had its rules, movements, simplicity. The game of feelings had no rules and somehow, unnoticeably and without her knowledge, she had become a player.

Jaime looked blankly around the room; almost automatically he approached the swords, gave Brienne Oathkeeper and secured his own weapon, doing everything wordlessly. His gaze fell on his golden hand, waiting for him on the table, cleaned from all of the yesterday's blood. His stump immediately reminded him he wasn't ready for it, sending a shiver of pain through his right arm. No, he had to leave it be, at least for now. Still without words, Brienne handed him a cloak with a hood and her fur he had got acquainted with the day before; he had no choice but to take it, being careful not to gaze too long into her eyes, feeling like he intruded into her privacy as the material embraced him tightly and his brain reminded him it had done the same to her body countless times, which evoked a lot of sensations he still couldn't let himself feel towards her.

Then they left the chamber and started walking silently through the crowded corridors without looking at one another, lost in their own worlds and thoughts.


	4. Silence Before the Storm

**A/N:** I have a feeling this chapter is downright terrible, truth be told. And I apologize in advance for mistakes that might be more common than in the previous ones, because I really wanted to publish it today (which meant quicker than usual editing to 5 am and resulted in an almost completely sleepless night) to wish you all Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! I hope 2018 will be better than 2017 for all of you and all your dreams will come true. May the Seven bless you!

All I want for Christmas is a review (or rather a few), so don't be shy and criticize!

Love you all,  
Ana

* * *

 **IV**

 **Silence Before the Storm**

The road to Pod's involved fighting their way through the highly crowded corridors, which created a perfect opportunity for them to analyze the recent events. Jaime felt somewhat unclean and ashamed. He didn't regret telling her the truth, for in this new short life he wanted to be as honest with her as it was only possible, yet now he wished there had been nothing to tell in the first place. How different his current feelings were in comparison to what he had experienced upon hearing the "happy" news; how badly he now wanted to erase at least one last year of his life. One year would be enough; it was so little and so much to ask for at the same time.

Silently following Brienne he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking, what was going on in this stubborn head of hers. Did she detest him already? Did she regret saving his life?

Brienne slowly reflected on their past encounters, on his words, deeds, intentions. She hadn't judged him through the prism of his past for years, so why should she start now? He had listened to her and fucked loyalty; everything before that had become his past. He himself had made those choices and put it all behind him. A past was a past; it should have stayed there. If they all live long enough for it to become the future, then it could be a reason for further considerations. No sooner.

On the other hand... on the other hand, she felt heavy with this new knowledge in a way she hadn't known before, heavy with some kind of desolate resignation. She wasn't hurt; there was already too much pain in him to increase it with any additional suffering. Maybe she should have just tried to remain detached and distant, to focus on her duties and nothing more as she had usually been doing around other people. Maybe she shouldn't have cared so much about the amount of pain in his eyes. Maybe she should have treated him like every other human being to protect herself from harm.

But whenever her gaze stumbled upon him, a broken pile of misery, she knew she couldn't do any of that. He was no ordinary human being for her and additionally, nothing could ever be like it had been again. She didn't know why or what had changed exactly, but it certainly had. Was it the fright and despair she had experienced thinking he was dead? Was it his most noble behavior towards her home? Was it about his current condition? Or maybe... maybe she was simply tired of shuffling everything aside, of denying any feelings that didn't revolve around honor and oaths. Everyone around her suspected they were going to die sooner rather than later; if it truly was to be this way, she didn't want to die forever hidden behind the walls of her duties. She wished to feel. She wished to live.

And so she decided his recent revelation will not affect their relations. Something tried to break through to these parts of her that relied completely on honor and propriety, but it failed entirely; she had long detached herself from those old, naive and idealistic conceptions and created some new, her own, based on experience and her heart. There was nothing improper in making someone's life easier, especially if this someone happened to be much more than a usual acquaintance.

She looked at him askance, her heart squeezing at the sight of utter sorrow in his eyes when he stopped blankly scanning the floor and lifted his head, their gazes locking for a moment. She wanted to say something to make him feel better, but before she could think of the right words Pod emerged from the nearest passage, almost stumbling upon them.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, surprised at the unexpected meeting even though he had to be going to find her. "Ser Jaime," he added, bowing his head before the knight.

"Quieter!" Brienne hissed, looking around uneasily. People around them didn't seem to pay attention to anything rather than themselves, but still, they had to be more careful for the time being.

"You're looking good, Podrick," Jaime noticed, greeting the squire and making him grin. "Being lady Brienne's squire has served you well."

"You'll exchange pleasantries later," Brienne muttered, not wishing to fail Lady Stark and expose Jaime too early. "What is it, Podrick?"

"It's about Ser Bronn," Pod answered eagerly. "He..."

There were a few castle inhabitants passing them by who went right through their small gathering. Pod went silent, looking uneasily at the strangers. As the silence prolonged Jaime developed a strong wish to hurt the squire severely.

"He woke up and seems to be quite well," Pod finished when he considered it safe and smiled widely at the joyful nature of his words, content to be a bearer of good news. His smile faltered when he noticed the grim look Brienne gave him.

"Spare us the drama the next time," she grumbled while Jaime released a sigh of relief. "We're going."

They moved forward, creating a line with Brienne at the front and Podrick closing the small procession. Jaime, feeling slightly better after the news of Bronn's well-being, managed to disengage himself from all the dark thoughts that had surrounded him upon his revelations.

"You made him sad," he noticed with a smirk, gazing at Pod whose head was hanging down miserably.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, did you wish to wait longer?" Brienne asked mockingly, casting him a slightly sly smile. He returned the gesture. It was good to see him smile, even though it didn't fully reach his eyes.

"No," he admitted. "I didn't."

They walked the rest of the way in silence which was no longer hanging between them, but seemed natural and calm. Podrick's chamber was located on the outskirts of the castle where rooms were significantly smaller. After entering it they found Bronn sitting on the bed with pillows stuck behind his back, so he could comfortably lean against the wall. He grimaced discontentedly upon seeing them.

"And here I hoped I wouldn't have to look at your irritating face ever again," he muttered to Jaime, who smirked in response.

"I was worried about you too," he answered chuckling and walked further inside.

Brienne and Pod followed him. Brienne gazed around the room, having never been here before; it consisted only of a small chest and a bed, barely big enough for one person to fit in. She briefly reckoned that if the two men were to share the bed, it wouldn't be particularly comfortable or even possible, despite Podrick's smaller frame. In hers it wouldn't be like that if she and her own survivor were to use it together. She felt heat rising to her cheeks after she realized what it was exactly that she had been thinking about with a good dose of certainty, like it was a normal issue. She quickly scolded herself; wishing to feel and sharing her bed were two completely different things. She won't share her bed with anyone. Not today, probably not ever. She was quite sure of that. Quite.

"I am glad to see you well," she spoke to Bronn to release herself from these thoughts. The sellsword bowed his head in response. "We'll leave you two alone."

She gestured to Pod to leave and he quickly obeyed, smiling in farewell to both knights.

"Ser Bronn." Brienne had to express her goodbyes as well, but when she looked at Jaime she went silent for a brief moment. They weren't alone here, they should have addressed each other properly, yet she wished that intimacy she had felt while speaking his name could endure. "Jaime," she finally uttered, coming to a conclusion that Bronn was for Jaime like Podrick for her - safe.

Jaime smiled, aware of the momentary struggle she had been experiencing and satisfied it had ended the way it had.

"Brienne."

She lingered in the chamber so they could stare at each other for a few long seconds, as was already their own habit when it came to goodbyes, after which she turned around and left, closing the door behind her. Jaime's eyes remained fastened on the door, however, even after she disappeared.

"Missed you, huh?" Bronn murmured, which brought Jaime back to reality. He turned around and sat on the chest.

"She didn't have anyone to tease," he answered casually, scrutinizing the other man. Bronn's right hand was heavily bandaged while his face bore more than a few souvenirs from the recent fight. He looked pale, paler than the white sheet the bed was covered with, but at least he was alive. "You look like shit."

"Have you checked the mirror lately?" Bronn retorted and reached down to lift a mug from the floor with his left hand. Jaime squirmed when the smell of its contents hit his nostrils.

"What is it?" he asked as Bronn swallowed a sip of the peculiar liquid with a grimace.

"Maester brought it. He said it will make my blood regenerate faster and get me on my legs sooner than I would find a whore in these frozen ruins."

Jaime chuckled.

"I somehow doubt he said exactly these words."

"I can swear on my honor it went exactly like that," Bronn announced solemnly.

"You don't give a damn about honor."

"Exactly." He grinned but had to wince in the next moment as a flash of pain traveled up his right arm. "The thing's supposed to give me strength. But it tastes like shit. Even not an especially good shit."

"I don't need to explore your knowledge of various tastes of shit," Jaime grimaced. Bronn shrugged with an expression saying "it's your loss" and took another sip of the suspicious-looking, grayish and sticky substance. "What happened to your hand?"

"Knife happened." Bronn lifted his hand to his eyes and looked at it accusingly. It was shaking uncontrollably; he tried to stop it with his other hand, in the process almost spilling the contents of his mug onto the furs he had been covered with. "Hurts like seven bloody hells, but it's a good sign, or so I've heard. At least I still have it."

"I can always show you some moves," Jaime smirked, waving his left hand. Bronn looked at him grimly.

"If I'd ever wish to be the most terrible swordsman Westeros has ever seen, I'll come to you immediately."

"I'm not _that_ bad now," Jaime protested, wishing he really wasn't _that_ bad.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Bronn shrugged indifferently, which earned him a dark stare from Jaime. "Were you granted an audience already?"

"Only with Sansa. I couldn't have you miss the big event," Jaime smirked and adjusted the chest he was sitting on so he could find a more comfortable position for his ribs. There was probably not a single one that would enable him to breathe freely, but when he stretched himself out almost fully, his head touching the wall and his legs resting on Podrick's bed, he could get much more air. Every additional particle seemed like a blessing from the Seven.

"Brienne wasn't there?" Bronn tilted his head and Jaime had to stifle a sigh, knowing what will come next. "How did she greet you? Laid you in her chamber and spread her legs? Or yours?" he added after a quick moment of wonder.

Jaime looked at him heavily; Bronn shrugged nonchalantly and took another sip of his beverage.

"The castle is overcrowded. She had to put me in her own chamber, just as Podrick put you in his." The moment the words left Jaime's mouth he knew he had just made a terrible mistake.

"I really doubt Pod would want to do to me what she wants to do to you. His magic cock is for cunts. You two, on the other hand..." Bronn suspended his voice for a few seconds while Jaime stared at him in silent defiance. "I'd tell you to go get a room, but you already share one, so it would be a tremendous waste not to use it. You need any instructions on how to do it with someone who isn't your sister?"

"We won't be doing anything," Jaime said firmly and slowly, accenting every word separately. "Remind me why exactly have I ever cared whether you survive?"

"Because you literally cannot live without me repeatedly saving your life and I need you for this castle of mine that's still a little bit too elusive for my taste." Jaime had to admit there was a lot of truth in these words. "But maybe your female guardian will now take that job from me."

"Can we please stop talking about her?" He looked at Bronn intently, but the ex-sellsword just simpered.

"I agree, _you_ should stop _talking_ about her and start _fucking_ her." He lifted his cup in a mocking toast.

"You do realize we can be killed any moment now and there are probably more important things to do rather than fucking, right?" _Who am I trying to convince here?_ Jaime wondered. _Him or myself?_

Bronn frowned like Jaime had just spoken some atrocious blasphemy.

"More important things than fucking before death? Can't think of any. Besides, it's all the better you'll die soon. No regrets."

Jaime sighed and hid his face in his hand. This discussion was completely pointless. He needed to get ready for the meeting with the rulers of this part of the realm, from whom almost everyone will be hostilely inclined towards him, and instead his head got filled with a whole variety of images that were everything but proper right now or right any other moment, in fact.

 _Fucking_ her could never be right.

* * *

From the open corridor up high Sansa watched Arya fighting in the yard with Robert Baratheon's bastard son. _Gendry_ , his name was, she remembered like through the mist. Arya had mentioned to Jon more than a few times already he should have convinced the Queen to make the boy a legit deer; Sansa suspected it had something to do with him calling himself a "lowborn" quite often when talking to the younger Stark girl.

Sansa recalled Arya's reaction upon seeing the boy again: a gasp of disbelief she had uttered, a tear of joy she had shed, a hug she had enclosed him within. It was yet another shade of her sister Sansa hadn't known. There was something about Arya when she was around him that made Sansa remember that joyful, careless girl from years back; the assassin part seemed to disappear then, letting whatever innocence was left in her resurface. Letting the world believe, even if just for a fleeting moment, that she was still the same Arya Stark of Winterfell that had left this place seven years before. But one closer look was enough to prove she was no longer that girl. Even in a fight that was no more than a play - or maybe a training, Sansa couldn't really tell - her skills were betraying her, showing a glimpse of what she had been through, what she had seen and what she had learned.

As Sansa observed her from above, Arya was fighting vigorously, always winning, sending Gendry to the ground all too many times until the boy was soaking wet from the snow he was constantly falling into. Looking at him helplessly lying in the piles of white fluff, Arya laughed the laugh of a carefree heart, the laugh of someone who lived in the present and neither dread the future nor looked back into the past. He laughed back at her despite the obvious pain he had to experience after so many falls, his eyes conveying something akin to what Sansa had witnessed moments before in Jaime Lannister's irises.

Sansa felt a sting of envy at the back of her heart, for a lot of reasons. Years ago, she had detested her sister's boyish behavior, thinking herself better for being feminine, for being the way women should have been in this realm. Now, she was catching herself every so often on wishing she was more like Arya. Convinced every issue could be dealt with by one thrust of a sword or a dagger, and hers was the hand that would guide it. Skilled in battle, perfectly prepared for whatever was about to come. Able to allow herself a few moments of carefreeness, when the worries were fading away and the people around her were all that remained.

She couldn't be carefree even for a second. She was a ruler, she had responsibilities and duties she had to live up to. She wasn't prepared for what was to come, playing the calm and all-knowing Lady of Winterfell when deep inside she felt like a scared little girl living in a nightmare both by day and by night, just wishing to find a safe shelter to retreat to with her family. Her hand would not guide a sword because those were not her ways. She had gotten embedded in the game of thrones a long time ago; but even though she could deny her participation right now, she wasn't going to. The game was power, and power was the only thing that counted in this cruel world, or at least that had been the lesson everyone had been teaching her for years. She had learned, in her own way, although she was still finding her strength. All the women surrounding her had proven to her on numerous occasions they could be strong, independent and hold their ground, being powerful and authoritative, yet never abusing their power the way Cersei had. Arya. Brienne. Lyanna Mormont. Sometimes even Daenerys Targaryen. She needed to be _that_ strong, _that_ powerful.

And what could be a better moment to prove her strength and believe in it herself if not this day? The game was still on and she wasn't going to stop being a player. She had to show them she wasn't a pawn that could be maneuvered around and discarded when not needed; no, she was a figure with her own moves. She was still playing and they needed to see it. Whatever was going to happen, she had to show them she was the North. And she wasn't going to stand idly by while all the important matters were decided in the Great Hall, behind the closed doors, away from her. She won't have it this way any longer.

Brienne joined her before long and for a moment they both watched the fight down below in silence.

"She is very talented," Brienne noticed with a soft, proud smile.

"Yes, she is." _And so am I._ "Come with me."

They walked to the Great Hall; Sansa wasn't going to wait for an invitation, so without hesitation she entered the chamber, closely followed by her protector and Podrick, who had joined them somewhere on the road.

There was a usual group of people gathered around a map of Westeros. Some northern blacksmiths, led by no one else but Gendry, had made a perfect replica of the Seven Kingdoms from steel, creating an iron table that supposedly resembled a similar object from Dragonstone.

Sansa briefly wondered what they had been doing the whole time they had been here, spending the whole days around this table, if during this period nothing had changed. The figures on the board hadn't really moved since the first time she had seen them; they seemed stuck in their places, waiting impatiently until they would finally travel north.

Waiting for the lion that will never come.

One look at the gathered people was enough to get an answer to her unasked question. Jon and Daenerys stood at one side of the map having a heated discussion, while the others anxiously tried to find their places beyond this private argument.

Sansa greeted them all, looking for a moment at the royal pair. She didn't really know what the true reason for their feud was and without the knowledge of what kind of a person Daenerys Targaryen exactly was, she could never be sure. It might have been the succession to the throne, although the brother she had known wouldn't enjoy sitting on the Iron Throne. He cared about the people too deeply to be relegated to the role of a king that had nothing to do with smallfolk and had to look at the bigger picture, always prioritizing the kingdom above the common people. No, it was definitely not for him.

It might have also been the obvious sexual tension brewing between the two Targaryens, clad in a much darker color than they could have probably ever imagined. Any incestuous relationship wouldn't be viewed in a positive light right now which had to make the whole thing dreadfully complicated.

The last reason Sansa could think of was the recent thread of connection Jon had established with the dragons, especially the smaller one, bearing the name of his biological father. But most probably it was everything combined.

"I won't have it this way." Daenerys' voice was firm and cold while her eyes were aflame as she looked hostilely at Jon. They didn't notice Sansa entering; they probably didn't see anyone except for each other.

"Dany..." Jon tried to ease her, but apparently she really wasn't going to bear any of it. She was a dragon that couldn't be tamed.

"Don't call me that!" she basically shouted at him which made him twitch.

Sansa transferred her attention towards the map in front of her. There were figures representing every force that was under their command; to her substantial distress, she discovered Cersei's forces were a good part of their army. The lion seemed to mock them from the board and for a moment Sansa saw the figures turning against their companions. In a quick vision she perceived the other pawns lying defeated on the flat surface, bursting with iron blood as the cat roared above them.

She got abruptly awakened from the peculiar reveries by the sound of someone walking up to her. Turning around, she saw Tyrion standing next to her. He cast her a soft smile and asked politely: "What is bringing you here today, my lady?"

She gazed at him for a moment, wishing she could scream her anger in his face. _I told you everything before, I warned you loud and clear, but you didn't listen. Why didn't you listen?_ She managed to compose herself though and turned to the map again, straightening.

"You have it all wrong," she answered firmly without looking away from the board.

"We can only hope your concerns won't become true."

Her head snapped towards him as she wanted to scold him, but then she realized something. She really wished to believe Jaime, partially out of selfish reasons - she needed to be right, she needed to show them they had been wrong to disregard her, she needed them to respect her. Maybe Tyrion wanted to believe Cersei could be trusted just as badly, so he wouldn't have to admit his own sister was entirely and completely lost, without any hope to be saved. Maybe he needed her to still be redeemable.

And so Sansa answered him calmly, without anger, withholding even a small sigh: "My concerns are no longer only my concerns. They have a voice now."

He frowned and looked at her with worry.

"Where did you get this voice from?" he asked, his voice quiet. She couldn't say what he was thinking. Did he suspect what she had to say or maybe just hope it wouldn't be of any importance? He seemed to be somewhat in a state of denial, unable to see clearly, locked inside his own visions and dreams. Well, she was going to crash them now mercilessly. They all deserved it.

"Last night Winterfell welcomed two travelers from King's Landing." She realized she had a full attention of the majority of the people around and even a partial one from Jon. "They did voice my concerns."

"I'm afraid we cannot believe everything the common people from the capital have to say, Lady Stark," Varys spoke up. Without his little birds, the Spider didn't seem to be of much use to anyone other than Tyrion, lending him a piece of friendly advice from time to time.

Sansa looked at him sternly. They really thought she was still that little girl who had fled King's Landing, didn't they?

"I don't remember mentioning they were common people, Lord Varys," she said coldly, eyeing the eunuch proudly.

"You let people who could be our enemies into Winterfell without telling me?" Jon interfered, his voice surprised and disbelieving.

Silence fell in the great chamber as the eyes of every single person focused on Sansa.

"Enemies," she snorted and walked along the board, the tips of her fingers brushing the surface lightly. She braced herself mentally, both enjoying and slightly dreading being in a center of attention with such a company for her audience. "Everyone in this chamber has once been an enemy to the other, and yet here we are, united under the common cause." She picked up the nearest lion figure and lifted it to her eyes. "Besides, you gave me the full right to decide for the North without consulting anything with you, remember?"

She looked at Jon without any warmth in her gaze as he stared at her intently. In this moment she felt nothing but irritation towards him.

Surprisingly, it was Daenerys who stood by her, possibly deciding that everything against Jon was worth supporting.

"As the eldest surviving child of Eddard Stark you are the Wardeness of the North and therefore have every right to decide for the North yourself," she said, casting Jon a superior look, proving him she was the one holding all the power here. He answered with a weary look, but didn't say a single thing to disagree.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa bowed her head in a sign of gratitude. It was the first time she thought she might find some common ground with the Mother of Dragons.

"We'll still have to listen to your sources before we decide on anything," Daenerys added, looking at her people. She didn't show any signs of concern, unlike the rest of them, who were mostly exchanging anxious glances and looked saddened or angered by the idea of betrayal.

 _Like I haven't been telling them since the moment they came here with their merry news._

"I wouldn't expect anything else, Your Grace."

The moment of bonding between the two women got interrupted by Tyrion.

"Tell me, my dear Sansa..." His voice was now much more cautious and wary than when he had spoken to her moments ago. "How would we know if we should trust some strangers claiming that my sister is a treacherous cunt?" He gazed at her for a moment, then walked towards a table where the vessels with wine stood. Since coming to Winterfell he had returned to his old drinking habits, for reasons unknown to Sansa. "Which we all already know, by the way?"

"I never mentioned they were strangers," she answered calmly, her gaze fastened on his back as he started to pour himself a cup of wine.

The process of pouring almost transformed into spilling as his hand froze middle-air. He turned around abruptly, a few driblets of wine dropping onto the ground from the vessel in his grip. There was a wide constellation of feelings written in his face and eyes as he stared at Sansa in tense anticipation, waiting for a confirmation and finding it in the slightest nod of her head. He uttered a short gasp of both disbelief and joy as he put the vessel back on the table and leaned against it with both his hands, visibly overwhelmed by relief. Watching him Sansa managed to forget they weren't alone in the great room until Daenerys spoke.

"His brother is here?"

Sansa turned to look at her; the Queen was shifting her gaze from her Hand to Sansa, cautious in some slightly menacing, but calm way. Jon's eyes widened in disbelief. He visibly wanted to interfere, already opening his mouth when he suddenly decided against it. In the current situation his voice counted for nothing and it wasn't an exaggeration to think this way. He would better remain silent to not enrage the Dragon any more than he had already done.

"Yes. Ser Jaime and Ser Bronn arrived yesterday."

Tyrion laughed merrily from above his table, then turned around and his gaze fell onto Daenerys. The calmness and seeming indifference in her features made his stomach twirl and the smile fade from his face as he realized the situation didn't look bright for his brother. For a moment the Queen and her Hand engaged in a wordless conversation in which Tyrion's eyes were begging for a chance, for forgiveness.

Brienne exchanged an anxious glance with Pod; she didn't know the Dragon Queen, so she couldn't in any way predict her actions. Hope was the only thing left. And of course her word, even if it would count for nothing for the foreign Queen.

"Your Grace..." Tyrion started finally, but Daenerys turned to Sansa the very same moment, not allowing him to continue. His eyes fell onto the floor as dread took over his heart.

"We may speak to them now," the Queen said or rather ordered, still expressionlessly, yet the more trained ears heard a threatening note somewhere in the seemingly neutral words. These weren't Brienne's ears, as she generally didn't perfect in reading other people's emotions, yet she still sensed the dread in the air. However, both Sansa and Tyrion heard the menace in the command. Sansa hesitated for a moment before passing it further, but she didn't have much of a choice. She looked at Tyrion who gazed at her with resignation. He felt that if he tried to fight now it could only make everything even worse.

The dragon's den awaited the lone lion with bad news and a lot of sins on his shoulders. It couldn't end well.

Feeling confidence fleeing her, Sansa turned to Brienne and Podrick. Pod would gladly go there himself, but Brienne didn't intend to let him go alone, without passing her own words of warning to the two knights, so without even waiting for the command to be verbalized she nodded and gestured to Pod to follow her.

"If Ser Bronn isn't able to come, let him stay," Sansa added before they left the Great Hall, hoping she still had some power left to order a thing or two. She decided that she probably won't find a common footing with the Queen. Maybe a successful communication with rulers simply wasn't her thing.

Tyrion frowned and glared at her almost demandingly.

"Why wouldn't he be able to come?" he asked.

"They had a misadventure on their way here." Sansa felt her stomach tighten at the reminder of the last night's events. _Misadventure. What a lovely way to put it._

"What kind of a misadventure?"

Sansa looked uneasily at the people around her; they were waiting for her to answer, some with interest, some with weariness. She sighed and with a heavy heart started telling them the story of the Northmen's downfall, feeling personally ashamed of the acts of her own people.

* * *

After a brief hesitation Brienne knocked on the door to Podrick's chamber and without waiting for an invitation came inside. Pod realized everyone had already managed to forget it once had been his room; he followed his knight inside pondering where he will be sleeping the next night.

Jaime quickly got to his feet which made Bronn roll his eyes. Brienne needed a moment to find her voice after letting herself look into Jaime's eyes a moment too long, worry taking hold of her.

"The Queen wants to see you," she announced, her gaze shifting between the two men. Jaime nodded, feeling not for the first time this day he wasn't ready for that conversation and probably will never be. He remembered the sack of Highgarden, the fire of the dragon, the death of his people, the eyes of the beast as it wanted to burn him alive...

For a moment he couldn't recall what exactly he was doing here. There were much quicker and probably more pleasant ways to die than traveling the majority of the Seven Kingdoms in a freezing cold, being almost slaughtered by the cannibals and finally ending his road lethally punished by Daenerys Targaryen for all the wrongdoings he had committed. For all his sins.

Sins. This one fucking word that had traveled with him for so many long years, casting a shadow over his every action, a shadow he had never been able to lose. But maybe that was exactly why he was here - to lose this shadow. To lose the stain of sin. But before he could get rid of it, he had to confront it first. Confront Daenerys Targaryen and Brandon Stark.

He gazed up at Brienne; she was talking to Bronn, from time to time casting him looks full of concern. It was quite obvious something had already gone wrong. Maybe the sentence had already been made; it didn't matter now, though. He was here and despite everything he still had her in his corner - it gave him enough strength and courage to face every dragon this land could spit out. Suddenly he felt he would be able to do everything with her at his side. He will tell them the whole truth and try to be humble. He won't show defiance. There was no point in it and besides, that was not why he was here. He had to obey if he wanted to stay and he did want to stay, so defiance was not an option.

"I am going." Bronn's annoyed voice brought him back to reality.

"But the maester said it's dangerous to move after the potion," Pod tried to protest, but he got quickly silenced by Bronn's dark stare. The ex-sellsword sat at the edge of the bed carefully avoiding leaning on his right hand and straightened up, or at least tried to, which didn't fully work out the way he was expecting.

"I'm not going to sit here and wait until I'm brand new and shiny. Do you think they will wait?" Pod wanted to ask which "they" he had in mind, the dead or the commanders in the Great Chamber, but Bronn didn't give him a chance to speak up, continuing: "I don't. I'll rest when I'm dead, or when I'm awfully rich, and I'm not there yet."

Jaime mouthed "it's pointless" towards Pod, who sighed with resignation.

"Besides, one day they'll come and tell me - we have a castle to spare, but with the deepest regrets we have to inform you your request for it has been denied. If you were there and then at the right time, you would prove worthy of one, but you weren't. They won't fuck me over like that. I'm going."

Brienne frowned and looked questioningly at Jaime, who just shook his head in a "don't ask" gesture. She didn't seem satisfied with such an answer though.

"A castle? Is it all you care about?" she asked. Jaime already knew Bronn well enough to know his reply.

"At the moment?" the ex-sellsword enquired.

"At any given moment."

He pretended to think about the possible reply before finally answering: "Money. Fuck. Wine. Good fight. That would be it. Not much and yet still beyond me."

"You'll get a lot of at least one of these soon," Jaime noticed. "If we survive today, which is probably unlikely."

Brienne shot him a hesitant glance, but didn't say anything.

"As I said, I'm not there yet." Bronn got to his feet with severe difficulty, stood still for a moment and immediately stumbled backward after taking one unsteady step. To prevent himself from falling he leaned on his wounded hand, which resulted in a series of curses leaving his mouth.

Pod quickly moved forward to aid the knight, which only earned him a grumble: "Fuck off, Pod."

He did fuck off, although remained in the small enough distance to react quickly if needed.

They waited silently until Bronn gathered his strength, straightened up and, using the support of the wall, wobbly walked towards the door. Pod shadowed him quite closely, partially in awe at the titanious efforts the sellsword had to endure, partially in worry as he remembered the maester's warning which Bronn had so carelessly chosen to ignore. He knew he was surrounded by the best warriors in the whole Westeros and desperately wished to be like them. A knight or a sellsword, it didn't really matter; they were fighters, trained to endure pain and hide weaknesses that might arise, to just grind their teeth and move on, to lock any frailty in the deepest corners of their minds where it could no longer affect them. Bones broke like matches, blood drained like water; it couldn't matter though as they had to rise above it all and continue their missions, tasks, jobs, assignments, because that was what they were here for. And for money, fame or castles, in some cases. He wished he could be equal with them one day.

As they left the chamber, moving in Bronn's excruciatingly slow pace towards the Great Chamber, the tension in Brienne grew some more until it was almost unbearable. Yet for the majority of the road she didn't know what to say, how to speak her mind, how to communicate everything or at least something of what she wanted to convey. And so they traveled in silence. The cold stone walls seemed to look at them angrily, at the intruders that had no rights here in the North, as threateningly as the Dragon Queen had.

Finally, Brienne could stand it no longer.

"Jaime." She grabbed him by the arm to make him slow down so they would stay a little bit behind the other two men. He looked at her with a question in his eyes. She should have let go of him and passed him these words of warning she still didn't have figured out, but she couldn't. Words got stuck in her throat as she felt the concern squeezing it tight, just as her fingers clutched his arm tighter.

"What is it, Brienne?" he asked, his heart speeding at the extent of worry in her sapphire irises. He didn't have to ask, but it was so natural when he saw her hurting he couldn't stop the words.

And she realized he already knew.

"I will vouch for you," she promised without answering his unnecessary question.

"No, you won't." He smiled sadly at her and gently disengaged himself from her fingers, releasing them one by one; even though her hands were gloved, the touch almost seemed like a caress, tempting her to intertwine her digits with his and never let him go, never let him go _there_ , to his public execution. "Promise me you will not."

They were dreadfully close to the end of their journey, the end she didn't want to reach. Was she to become the one who will walk him to his final judgment? To his death? Was it to be the end?

How could she live on with such a perception?

"I will promise no such thing," she answered stubbornly. He gazed at her wondering why this strong, intimidating woman would ever want to endanger her good name for someone like him when Bronn abruptly cleared his throat.

"Are we going in or are you planning to continue your game of stares until the dead find us here?"

They both stepped back involuntarily, only now realizing they had stopped walking and had just been standing really close to each other. They looked at Bronn absentmindedly, without noticing he was paler than the whitest shade of pale. Jaime became aware he did not let Brienne's hand go entirely, still holding one of her fingers. They both seemed to cling to each other, like that could save them from any harm that would want to come their way. Like they would protect one another even if it would mean sacrificing a lot. They both knew they would.

He forced herself to let go of her and she immediately felt like she was deprived of something deeply needed.

"Whatever happens, know it was an honor to know you," he said, looking at her solemnly, and then walked away to join Bronn at the door leading to the Great Chamber. Brienne remained in the same place, frozen, until she heard the door being opened.

She stiffly followed the men inside, praying to the gods to let him live.


	5. Here We Stand

**A/N:** First of all, I'm really sorry for the delay in publishing this chapter. This year hasn't been the easiest for me so far. It got dark. It's brighter now, but still not bright enough. I have hope for a better tomorrow, though!

I would like to thank all of you, the Reviewers, because thoughts of you wishing to read my story lifted my spirits a lot of times. Biggest thanks go to Priestess of Groove from here and Bard_de_Bleu from ao3.

I'm not sure when I will be able to publish the next chapter - I won't have access to my computer for the next two weeks so it will probably come after Easter.

So, the "judgment day" has finally come! The ensemble scenes are the best to imagine and definitely not the easiest to write, but I still love them. It's the first time I've written so much Daenerys and Tyrion, hope you won't be disappointed with how it all turned out! Frankly, I'm quite satisfied with this chapter. I just need to beg your forgiveness for mistakes that could arise e.g. from my editing in the state of the almost asleep brain.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **V**

 **Here We Stand**

The creaking sound of the opening doors echoed in Jaime's ears alongside the loud beating of his heart. He hadn't thought it would be so difficult when he had been leaving King's Landing.

They entered the Great Hall with as much dignity as they only could gather, although the only thing Bronn cared about at the moment was to stay on his feet once he lost a steady support of the wall. He was painfully aware of the fact he was losing tension in his muscles and he was getting limp, but it was too late to turn back. Besides, his pride wouldn't let him do that now. He felt there were plenty of people watching them, but he couldn't care less about them. _One step at a time_ , he thought, moving forward, not even trying to keep up with Jaime, just wishing to reach the place where he could finally fall onto the floor before his weakness did it for him.

Jaime, on the other hand, was dreadfully aware of all the people watching them, judging, detesting. He walked steadily, upright, with his head lifted, as he noticed the table at the far end of the chamber and Daenerys Targaryen sitting at it. Her expression was cold, powerful, calm, like a sleeping dragon just waiting to awaken and wreak havoc. To her left was Jon Snow, shooting them glances full of anger and hatred, distrust and resentment. The chair to her right remained empty as its supposed occupant stood before the table, his eyes wide and hopeful, his whole posture expressing excitement mixed with anxiety and fear as he smiled softly at his brother. Jaime only dared a brief eye contact and a slight nod towards Tyrion before focusing fully on the Mother of Dragons. On the Queen.

"Your Grace." He knelt before her on one knee, suspecting he would be forced to remain in this position throughout the entire meeting. His ribs groaned in protest, sending a wave of pain he had to ignore. He noticed there were no animals around, neither dragons nor direwolves, which helped greatly in keeping his mind focused.

Bronn, still fighting with himself to remain in the upright position, managed to reach the place where Jaime was kneeling and looked down at the floor. It invited him warmly to fall into its embraces one more time, sending him memories of the night before. Cursing the Maester and his mysterious mixture in his mind, he accepted the invitation, leaning on his healthy hand to lower himself down onto the stone floor. He knelt on both his knees, feeling he won't be able to remain like that for too long, his muscles weaker than ever before in his entire life. Sighing, he looked up to take in their surroundings for the first time.

Tyrion watched the newcomers uneasily, his heart beating as loudly as his brother's. He had no idea how this gathering will end. Once upon a time, he would have said he had known Daenerys well enough to predict her behavior, but right now such a conviction stood no longer. The current Daenerys resembled a statue made of ice with her eyes always aflame, playing the same tune as her fierce heart did. Once upon a time, he would have also hoped she would listen to his pleas and show mercy; now he dreaded she will not do such a thing. There might be no mercy for his brother and their common friend.

"Ser Jaime. Ser Bronn." Daenerys greeted the knights while Tyrion feverishly counted in his head how many reasons she had to hate them. Unfortunately, _all too many_ was the only proper answer. "I heard you have some important information for me."

Jaime gazed at Bronn trying to catch his glance as they hadn't really established who will do all the talking. One look at the ex-sellsword was enough to know who will be responsible for speaking; his eyes were glistening morbidly and his gaze seemed to be all over the place.

"We do, indeed." Jaime's own voice sounded small and quiet in this big hostile chamber filled with enemies. But there were not only enemies, weren't there? People like Tyrion, Brienne, Podrick, Sansa, Varys. People he knew will listen. People he could focus on when narrating his story. And so he cleared his throat and started telling them his truth, _the_ truth of Cersei's deception, of Euron Greyjoy, of the Golden Company, all the while looking straight at Daenerys, but in his mind speaking to the few people who were not his enemies.

But they all listened. And they listened intently, sometimes reacting quite vigorously. Especially the mention of the Golden Company created temporary confusion, although everyone remained quiet. Daenerys didn't move for an inch, her face expressionless, without ever breaking the story or an eye contact with Jaime. When he finally stopped speaking the silence that fell rang in their ears, ricocheting from the walls and hitting them again and again.

Bronn, having half slumbered through the story, decided he should have confirmed whatever had been said.

"Aye, that blonde cunt tricked you all," he muttered, giving up the fight with his convulsing hand and letting it do whatever it wanted.

Daenerys granted him a passing look before her eyes returned to Jaime.

"You thought your information will be of great benefit to our cause," she spoke, the power of her voice resembling an icy thunderstorm. Was she really a dragon and not a White Walker in disguise? In the bright-gray clothing, Jaime couldn't be quite sure. Maybe they were already on the other side of the war and just hadn't noticed it due to exhaustion. "Were you expecting a reward for your troubles?"

Her attitude didn't prophesy anything good; the tone of her voice would freeze their blood if they hadn't been expecting they would not be welcomed kindly.

"No." Tyrion looked at them with compassion, taking in the bruises and wounds on their faces, the dried blood on their clothes and Bronn's futile struggles to remain kneeling as the floor seemed to get closer to him with every passing minute. The younger Lannister thought Jaime had lied - they definitely hoped for a prize, the highest prize of a warm meal and a comfortable bed, and nothing more than that. "We just wished to pledge our swords to the living."

In the current circumstances, it seemed like a reward they had no right to ask for. Jaime hoped the Queen didn't regard it as a demand, but rather a polite request.

"To the living or to me?" Daenerys' brow went higher as she looked at him enquiringly.

Was it a tricky question? Could a wrong answer cost them their heads? Jaime hesitated, feeling Bronn's blank gaze on him. Maybe their survival depended on his next words, or maybe not; still, they will be of substantial significance. He had to weigh them carefully. Did they want to pledge their swords to the foreign Targaryen Queen who could be, for all he knew, a reincarnation of the Mad King? Or will they just fight for the living against the dead, without belonging to any party in particular?

Suddenly, he remembered what he had told Sansa Stark this morning. And just like that, he had his answer.

"To the living and to the North, whatever it could mean."

It was bold, Tyrion concluded as he stared intently at his Queen, waiting for her reaction. But Jaime had always been straightforward when it came to matters other than love, so maybe he finally gathered enough resistance to stop doing things he didn't want to do, stop keeping oaths to the people he didn't believe in. Did he believe in Sansa or the North though? Or maybe just in Sansa's private protector, the woman carrying his sword and staring intensely at him throughout the whole meeting? Tyrion didn't fool himself into thinking he might have something to do with Jaime's decisions. They were past this point now, sadly.

Brienne felt pride growing inside her; by pledging his sword to Sansa and not Queen Daenerys, Jaime honored their common oath to Catelyn Stark even if he wasn't fully aware of that. They will keep lady Catelyn's daughters safe, they will fight for them. And, what was also important, they will finally fight for the same people.

Sansa smiled to herself. Who would have thought she will be granted the loyalty of a Lannister knight?

"I concede that," Bronn murmured, trying to fasten his glassy eyes on Daenerys, but everything was too blurred and he had to satisfy with staring at the table in front of them. Before, he had thought he could say something like, "If you give me a castle, I'll pledge you everything you want"; now, however, there were no castles in his mind.

There was a spark in Daenerys' eyes which for a moment made Jaime wonder whether he hadn't just condemned them both to death out of sheer pride. Or maybe it was honor and honesty? Could it be this way for the Oathbreaker? Did he still even know what that meant? He desperately wished to turn around and look at Sansa and Brienne - who were standing somewhere behind him - to see what they were thinking, what effect his words had on them. He didn't dare to move, though.

The Queen apparently didn't regard his answer as an offense deserving the death sentence, as her gaze shifted towards Sansa and then came back to him, calm and non-threatening.

"Then let's be it," she said and stood up. Jon looked at her quizzingly and after a moment followed her example. "There are a few possible scenarios right now." She circled the table and came to a halt at the other side of it, leaning against the wooden surface. Now there were only a few feet of the floor dividing them. "In a majority of them you die."

This time Bronn lost the fight with his balance and fell backward, sitting on his heels. The Queen's words reached his ears with delay, but he got their meaning quite clearly. He couldn't bring himself to care.

The silence that fell in the Great Hall seemed to be an enemy of its own. Even if there was someone who would like to speak their mind, no one dared to utter a word; the only voice belonged to Daenerys and the only person who could answer her was Jaime. All in all, it was his judgment day.

Jaime felt some peculiar calmness spreading through him. If he was to die this day, he will do that knowing they fulfilled their task. Whatever will happen, he was ready. But Brienne knew she wasn't. Standing next to Sansa, she was sure lady Stark could hear her heart, so loudly it was beating. She didn't care about scolding it this time, her eyes fixed on the judge and the accused. It was an execution, wasn't it? Her worst fears seemed to come alive at this very moment.

"You might be telling the truth," Daenerys started, slowly walking along the table, back and forth. "Then your coming here would be noble and your honesty would be appreciated. However, I do not see a single reason why you, out of all people, would betray your Queen, your sister, your lover..." she stressed the last word; it almost felt like a slap to Jaime's cheek, "...and travel half the kingdom to reveal the truth to her enemies. You have served her for years, blindly following her orders, and now you expect me to believe you suddenly had a change of heart and decided to choose the right side? Or maybe you are naturally predisposed to treason, just like you betrayed my father all these years ago?"

She was asking questions, but didn't expect an answer. And so Jaime was just looking at her while trying to remain calm. There were a lot of other feelings boiling under the surface like anger, humiliation and disappointment, mostly with himself, but he managed to keep them at bay. He had no influence on what will happen, so the only thing he could do was sustaining the remains of dignity he still had left.

Brienne, on the other hand, felt herself fuming and didn't intend to subdue her anger. _Ser Jaime is an honorable man,_ she wanted to shout; she wanted to make the Queen see he was trustworthy and that she would trust him with her own life. She was already taking a step forward when she felt Sansa's slim fingers tightening around her wrist. She looked at the other woman questioningly and saw in her young lady's eyes a silent plea for her not to interfere. Her heart ached at the conflict, but she remained silent, deciding to watch the horrible events as they unfolded before her for a little longer. There was still time to stop it.

 _Don't hurt him,_ she begged internally. _Give him a chance to prove his honor._

"The truth is, I don't believe you." Daenerys stopped her slow march and looked at him, her gaze both fierce and dreadfully cold. Tyrion closed his eyes and released a sigh. He knew he had to speak up if he wished to see his brother alive on the morrow, but Daenerys wasn't finished; interrupting a dragon didn't sound like the best idea. Enraging her himself wouldn't get them anywhere. "And that was only the first possible scenario. In another one, it was all _her_ wicked plan - to send you here with these crazy, insane accusations so we would believe you and let you be one of us. You would earn our trust and then either murder us in our sleep or tell her all the plans you would manage to discover so she could find Winterfell completely unprepared for her attack while she would know everything about our army."

Anger threatened to get hold of Jaime, but he put it out quickly. They will embrace their death sentences with dignity, without begging for their lives. And so he didn't take his eyes off her, his head lifted, his gaze steady. They will go out gracefully.

"Or she sent you here to be her eyes and ears without any particular plan and it was your creativity to invent how you will get in." There was a prolonged silence, after which she finished: "I have to apologize as I was wrong. In _every_ possible scenario, you die."

Sansa, watching Tyrion slowly breaking, squeezed Brienne's wrist tighter. The last thing she needed was for her personal protector to do something stupid and she felt Brienne was quite close to doing just that - her whole body was tensed, her lower lip slightly shaking, her eyes filled with a wide variety of feelings.

"Give Tyrion a chance," Sansa whispered to Brienne. "If she doesn't listen to him, there is very little chance she will listen to anyone."

She saw Brienne fighting with herself, but she surrendered once more, deciding Sansa was right. There were more important players here than her; lord Tyrion, as Jaime's brother, definitely had priority over her. She fastened her gaze on the younger Lannister, mentally forcing him to act.

And he did, or at least tried to.

"My Queen..." Tyrion started, but Daenerys barely looked at him and, without letting him speak any further, continued her tirade, her voice powerful, her whole posture inducing respect and maybe even awe.

"Why should I trust anything you say?" she asked. "You are the Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man Without Honor. You betrayed and killed my father. You pushed an innocent child out the window with the intent of killing him. Maybe you even sent an assassin to finish the task for you. You wanted to kill me and my dragon the last time we clashed. Not to mention your relationship with your own sister that resulted in two illegitimate kings whose reigns destroyed this kingdom!" Her agitation seemed to reach its peak. She didn't say anything for a moment and when she spoke again her voice was much calmer. "Do you deny any of these crimes, Ser Jaime?"

This time she seemed to want an answer, or rather demanded it. Jaime didn't even blink as his voice sounded loud and clear in the enormous chamber.

"I deny sending the assassin. As for the rest, the responsibility is mine."

Brienne felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She hadn't thought she would ever wish to defend Jaime's incestuous relationship, but now she realized a Targaryen condemning it while clearly harboring some non-familial feelings towards said Targaryen's nephew was just a pure, outraging hypocrisy. She also had to stop herself from saying the responsibility hadn't been only his. What about Cersei? She really hoped he was done protecting his sister and it was only a remnant of old times.

Daenerys stared at Jaime for a moment, then looked at Bronn.

"And you..." Bronn blinked quickly, realizing someone was addressing him, "...you shot my dragon." Fire blazed in her eyes, fire that threatened to burn them all.

Bronn made an enormous effort of forcing the muscles of his neck to move and he slowly nodded. He didn't trust his vocal cords to produce a sound that would at least resemble a human voice.

Such a confirmation was sufficient for Daenerys' needs.

"Why would I trust a word coming out of your traitorous mouth?" Her voice was much quieter now. "Maybe I should have your heads delivered to your Queen instead?"

Jaime smirked bitterly.

"I'm sure she would be delighted." He imagined such a situation. What reaction would such a gift evoke in Cersei? Would she reflect on all those years they had spent together and shed a single tear? Would she show no care at all? Or maybe she truly would be satisfied? Although it would be interesting to find that out, he wasn't especially eager to accord his head for such a cause.

In the following seconds, three people acted in the same moment.

"Your Grace..." Tyrion started one more time but wasn't meant to finish yet again.

Brienne, dumbfounded by the calm and passive way Jaime had been taking all of the threats to his life, reached a conclusion he thought he deserved to die, specifically at the hands of a Targaryen. She couldn't let him do that, especially knowing he was completely mistaken. And she already had enough. Sansa felt her knight's hand slipping away from her grip as Brienne stepped forward and opened her mouth to speak, but didn't manage to as the sound of the doors being opened filled the Great Hall and someone's powerful voice came from the threshold.

"He's telling the truth."

Jaime turned around abruptly, for the first time since he had started his confession looking away from Daenerys, and felt his heart skip a beat when he recognized the owner of this voice. Sitting in his wheelchair in the open doors was no one else but Brandon Stark.

"I've seen it," the youngest Stark added looking at the Queen, then he lowered his eyes to Jaime. His face was expressionless; nonetheless, Jaime felt like his gaze looked deeply into the knight's soul, revealing every sin, reading every dark thought. Jaime could stare into the fire of the Dragon Queen's eyes without a single dread, but he wasn't able to withstand the gaze of the young man whose life he himself had ruined. He didn't want the boy to vouch for him; it was completely surreal. What did it even mean? _I've seen it,_ Stark had said. What had he seen and how?

Suddenly there was a mess in Jaime's head. His heart was pounding, his throat was dry, his whole body was as sore as his mind was tired. Could they return to the moment when there had been a simple death threat he definitely was able to deal with?

Daenerys was silent for a moment, looking at the boy intently. Jaime had no idea what was going on; Stark's affirmation might make his case better in the Queen's eyes, but for him everything went darker. He remembered pushing the boy of only ten years of age out the window. He remembered the sound of the little body falling down from the tower. He remembered his own smug confidence when he had said the words _the things I do for love_.

There had been moments when he had truly hated himself, but not a single one of them was as intense as this one. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to focus on the situation at hand. He will talk to the boy, he will apologize, he will explain...

He almost wanted to laugh at his own stupidity. His apologies weren't worth a thing. And what was there to explain, really? That he had been a selfish bastard who had cared only about himself and his precious Cersei?

Feeling like he was getting swallowed by some dark abyss, he forced himself to open his eyes and focus on Daenerys once again. He had to fight hard to keep his thoughts on the right track; finally, he let cold emptiness take control over him as it seemed to be the only way to remain sane.

The Queen was looking at him with a grimace of distaste written all over her face. She despised him, as they all had always done. It was nothing new. Yet, there was also some peculiar kind of resignation in her eyes, like she knew what the boy had been talking about, like she had had to change her mind because of his words.

"Is there anything else you would like to share?" she asked Jaime, her voice still cold as ice, but no longer so threatening.

Jaime stared at her, exhausted both physically and mentally. There was something else, although he definitely didn't want to share it. Before, he had had no intention of ever doing so, but now he knew he basically had no choice. He felt it in two pairs of eyes, fastened on his back: one mesmerizingly blue, wishing to speak out for his nobility, hoping to be proud of his honesty, trusting he wouldn't let this become a secret hanging over her conscience; and the other ones, of a different, wolfish blueness, that for some unknown reasons seemed to know everything, _see_ everything. And if the Stark boy was somehow aware of the past, however ridiculous that sounded, keeping anything behind might only ruin Jaime's already basically non-existent chances of survival. There was also a far-fetched idea that when Cersei eventually decided to discredit him completely, she would stop at nothing, even if it would entail revealing some information she herself would not like to share.

He looked briefly at Tyrion, wondering whether his brother knew or not. The younger Lannister frowned, not sure what this prolonged silence meant until he understood and the cold dread flooded him. He hadn't told Daenerys how his conversation with Cersei had gone. Back then, it hadn't seemed _that_ important; right now, it was dreadfully so. He didn't even know why he hadn't told her the whole truth; it now felt like a betrayal. Was it some twisted desire to protect Cersei despite everything she had done? Or maybe an ill-conceived way to express his disappointment with Daenerys' involvement with Jon?

It was too late to delve into that now, though, as Jaime looked up at Daenerys and said, his voice resigned:

"She let you believe she will care for the realm because there is no one left for her to fight for apart for Westeros." He had to somehow explain why he will be telling them this "secret", but all the words seemed wrong, unnatural, unrealistic. Was he really disclosing his most private matters in front of the Mother of Dragons and all of her trusted advisors? "No one in her corner, no one to be a true lioness for, with all her children gone." He paused yet again. He could have said _our children_ as well, considering it was a crime he had admitted to committing. "It's not true."

Oh, how low he had fallen...

One deep breath and the words somehow got forced out of his throat.

"She claims she's pregnant."

A shadow crossed over Daenerys' face while hushed whispers filled the chamber. Tyrion closed his eyes and lowered his head, which made Jaime realize his brother had known about it and hadn't shared this knowledge with his Queen. Brienne smiled sadly, proud of Jaime's courage.

"Claims?" Daenerys repeated, the shadow long gone now, yet there was something in her voice that betrayed she didn't regain full composure. Traces of sadness crept there, alongside resignation and disappointment. Who was she disappointed with? Tyrion or herself, for not being able to say the same? "You don't believe her?"

"I think you already noticed she isn't especially trustworthy," he answered bitterly. "I'm not certain it is true, but I'm more inclined to think it is than otherwise."

Tyrion didn't dare to look at Daenerys, whose wrath he would have to face in the nearest future, so he stared at Jaime, wondering how much it all had cost him. His thoughts went to his cursed family in its entirety: to his sister, who apparently was much more insane than he had ever given her credit for; to his brother, kneeling here in front of so many hostilely inclined people, baring his soul to the Queen he had tried to kill not so long ago, now humiliated and broken, but still strong enough to find the right way, which made Tyrion proud of his big brother and slightly ashamed of himself; to his late nephews and niece, and the one that might or might not exist, but either way won't get to see this wretched world; and finally, to himself, their lord father's murderer, the rotten apple of their family. They were cursed - the rains will weep o'er Casterly Rock and there will be no one to hear them.

"Anything else?" Daenerys asked indifferently, suddenly looking tired, like this conversation and its revelations had drained her out of energy to almost the same extent as it had done to Jaime. Bronn hadn't had much of it to begin with and now his partial contact with his body got even scarcer as the only thing he felt in possession of was his brain.

Jaime shook his head.

"No. There is nothing else."

Daenerys straightened up and apparently wanted to announce her final judgment without consulting it with anyone. Before Tyrion or Brienne could speak up to vouch for Jaime, surprisingly to everyone it was the other Stark present in the Great Hall who stepped forward and said: "If I may, your Grace."

Sansa immediately gathered everyone's attention. Jaime felt even heavier than before; never in his wildest dreams would he have come up with a scenario in which two wolves protected a lion, especially that they were the pups of the same wolf that had judged him so severely, condemning him to all those endless years of being nothing more than the Kingslayer.

Daenerys nodded her head and gestured to Sansa to come closer. Lady Stark made another step towards the Queen.

"We might have lost Cersei's forces, but thanks to Ser Jaime's attempts we might have gained lord Selwyn Tarth's men," she said, wishing it was something to be considered a mitigating circumstance.

Daenerys frowned, probably analyzing the new information and locating Tarth on a map of Westeros and the pages of history.

"Tarth?" she finally asked, looking down at Jaime in confusion. "Why the Sapphire Isle, out of so many possible houses which are stronger and more powerful?"

Sansa looked askance at Brienne, remembering the moment the two had shared before her very own eyes. As the majority of the attendants gazed at the only representative of house Tarth present in Winterfell, Brienne felt her cheeks burn. Her eyes found Jaime's as he dared a glance in her direction. For a split second she saw a silent plea in them; _don't do anything stupid,_ they seemed to say. Then, he turned back to Daenerys and the moment was gone.

"I owe my life to lady Brienne," he said. _It was only proper to try and save her father,_ he considered adding diplomatically, but decided against it. _Only proper_? What he had written in that letter had little to do with propriety and he wasn't going to lie just to sound better.

Daenerys looked slowly at Brienne; her eyes scrutinized the other woman carefully, lingering for a moment on the lions that gazed at her from the hilt of Brienne's sword. Then she returned to glaring superiorly at the man still kneeling in front of her while Sansa retreated to her previous location, her fingers once again encircling Brienne's wrist.

"I believe I have heard enough. I am able to put your past behind me and let you fight with us. But..." The Queen hung her voice for a moment. What was it that Tyrion had used to say? That whatever comes before a "but" is unimportant? "It wasn't only me you endangered during our previous encounter. You also hurt my dragon, my child. If he decides to forgive you, you may stay."

Jaime blinked, Tyrion's head snapped abruptly towards Daenerys, Brienne's eyes went as wide as it was only possible.

"You want us to apologize to your dragon?" Jaime repeated quietly. The word "dragon" reached Bronn's ears and if he only could, he would burst out laughing at the stupidity of it all, turn around and ride as far away from here as his horse would stand. He realized that even if he was physically capable of doing just that, he didn't have a horse any longer. It only made him want to laugh some more.

"Yes." Daenerys' eyes bore a shade of cold satisfaction. "We will see if he decides to let your crimes against him pass."

While many people were looking at her with horror, Jaime also felt like laughing. He hadn't been killed by Cersei the Mad Queen but was apparently going to be burned alive by the pet of the Mad King's daughter. What an irony.

 _Burn them all,_ he heard the words echoing in his mind. _Burn them all._ He saw the fields of the Reach with the burning corpses of his soldiers scattered all around it; he saw the beast in front of him, its orange-red eyes burning with the same fire as its breath did. He felt the heat on his face, an image of the creature from his worst nightmares so badly alive, so vivid in his head.

"Your Grace..." Tyrion tried for the third time; Daenerys didn't even look at him, her eyes blazing as she smiled coldly at her victims.

"Be warned, Drogon is not an especially forgiving creature. He might not be in the right mood for conversations."

Despite how mad she sounded at the moment, Jaime thought she still didn't seem even half as insane as Cersei. The Mother of Dragons only wanted to exact revenge on those who had wronged her or her family; it was weirdly understandable. These realizations made him even more bitter towards his past self's actions and choices. Maybe if he had seen the truth earlier, he wouldn't be in such a position right now. But it was too late now to wonder what could have been. Instead, he just looked calmly at Daenerys and bowed his head.

"As you wish, your Grace." Even though meeting the very beast that haunted his dreams - alongside his sister - and sometimes poisoned his days as well, was the last thing he would ever desire, his voice didn't fail him. On the contrary, it helped him regain some dignity - if he was to go meet his end, he will do it with his head held high.

Brienne stood paralyzed, frozen to the spot, feeling her blood run cold. How could anyone ask for forgiveness of the dragon they lately had tried to assassinate, along with its mother? How could anyone ask for forgiveness of any dragon in general? It definitely bordered on the impossible.

She watched wide-eyed as the Queen just gazed at Jaime for a moment, like she was assessing his courage, until finally she nodded her head indicating the meeting was over and the matter was closed. Brienne felt her pulse in her ears as a wave of anger rushed through her. Before Sansa could do anything to stop her she stepped forward.

"I beg your pardon, your Grace," she said firmly, her blood now boiling. Jaime cursed her internally, turning his head towards her. Hadn't he asked her not to do that, not to sacrifice her good name for his sake? "But this is..." For a moment she wanted to say _insane_ ; she didn't serve Daenerys, she wasn't afraid of the Queen's rage, she could speak her mind freely. But for Sansa's sake, she chose more balanced words. "...beyond all reason."

Daenerys looked at her with polite disinterest, while Jaime fastened his gaze on her, gaze she deliberately avoided. She knew what his eyes would say and she wasn't going to have any of that.

"This is not a death sentence," the Queen answered calmly. "This is a chance."

"This _is_ a death sentence," Brienne protested. She didn't care what anyone was thinking about her this very moment; saving Jaime was the only thing that mattered. She would never forgive herself if she didn't at least try to rescue him. "Ser Jaime is a good man. Yes, he has committed some immoral acts, but so have most of the people in this chamber. He has changed. He knows honor and will fight for you if you only let him."

Jaime closed his eyes, wishing to turn back the time. He begged her in his mind to stop, to come to her senses, but no, she had to be her usual stubborn self. If there would be any consequences for her resulting from all this... he will never forgive himself.

"I am giving him a chance and it is already far more than I should do." Daenerys' voice didn't sound as polite or calm now as it had had moments before. It wasn't a threat yet, but she was clearly losing her patience. "If Ser Jaime indeed has good intentions, Drogon will feel it and spare his life. If not, it will be entirely his fault. I do not wish to hear any other objections, is that understood?"

Brienne breathed heavily, still feeling anger flowing through her veins. She looked at Jaime finally; as their eyes met he mouthed "Please, don't", his eyes begging for her to cease what she was doing. Then, her gaze swept the faces of the people standing near the Queen - they were all carrying the same expression of uncertainty. Did they simply accept their Queen burning her enemies alive? Was it a norm at a Targaryen's court?

Her eyes returned to Jaime. He shook his head the way only she could see it. She had to surrender, hoping Daenerys didn't lie and Drogon really was intelligent enough to understand.

"Yes, your Grace," she said regretfully but with respect and withdrew to her place next to Sansa. It was probably wise to add something like _I apologize for the interruption_ , but it would also be a lie and she was not a liar. She definitely wasn't sorry for defending Jaime, and she wasn't going to apologize for something she considered right.

She felt lady Stark gripping her hand comfortingly; looking at Sansa she saw only compassion and understanding in the younger woman's eyes. Brienne managed to smile at Sansa, glad her lady didn't feel offended by her behavior, yet she craved she could do something more than just speaking vain words that hadn't changed a thing. She desperately wished to change the way the events had unfolded while having the painful knowledge she possessed no power to influence them. How could she let Jaime go so soon after getting him back? She had no desire to find it out, but the only thing she could do right now was to helplessly observe his burial march.

"Ser Jorah will show you the way," Daenerys said to Jaime and looked at an older knight standing near the table.

"Of course, Khaleesi." Jorah Mormont bowed his head respectfully.

"You may go now."

"Your Grace." Jaime bowed his head one last time, trying to show as much respect as it was only possible in his current situation. The old Jaime inside him wanted to mock the Queen or sarcastically comment on the absurdity of his so-called task, but the old Jaime no longer had a voice. The new one, even if his life was going to be short, just wished to obey the order and get the hell out of this wretched chamber.

It was once again silent in the Great Hall as he got back onto his feet, his legs weak, his knee hurting; he wasn't going to show them that, though, and just turned to Bronn whose only movement comprised turning his head towards his companion. In his eyes, Jaime saw a reflection of the terrible weakness the ex-sellsword was experiencing, and so the Lannister knight had to defeat his own fatigue in order to help Bronn up. To his big surprise and unexpected gratitude, he found Podrick already standing beside Bronn. The squire wore a sad smile and regret was written in his eyes; Jaime didn't want pity, so he just focused on Bronn who limply let them grab him by his shoulders and get him up. Ser Jorah Mormont moved from the table and approached them, gesturing to them to leave the Great Hall. Jaime beckoned to Pod and they started a long journey out of this dreadful chamber, where the last hour was hanging heavily over the knight's head, feeling like a lifetime of experience. Bronn seemed heavy, so heavy, even though it was probably Pod who took more of the ex-sellsword's weight on him.

To detach himself from the intrusive attack of all the stares around him, Jaime recalled his waking up this morning, one of the last good memories. The warmth. A comfortable sensation of home. And a pair of beautiful blue eyes.

He dared a quick glance sideways until his eyes found Brienne. She was staring at him wide-eyed, terror and apology written in her blue irises. He couldn't convey that there was nothing she should have been sorry for or look at her seeing her in pain, so he quickly turned his gaze away, concentrating on the big doors far ahead.

He still felt the pair of these big blue eyes burning into his back the whole journey out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Although they should have already got used to it, the silence that fell after the doors closed was ringing in their ears almost to the point of being painful. Everyone seemed to be staring at someone with mixed feelings, yet almost no one dared to look at the Queen. Almost.

Tyrion, after having powerlessly watched his brother go to meet his death, felt the hot blood running to his face. Before, he hadn't been able to break through; some kind of a blockage had grown inside him crippling his abilities. This blockage was called self-doubt.

He had been feeling less and less like himself ever since he had crossed the Narrow Sea with Daenerys. Every decision he had made was wrong, every choice resulted in bad consequences. The feeling of being deprived of any usefulness led to the tragic disaster of the last hour and some kind of defiance that had apparently been building inside him finally rose to the surface. Something clicked in him and the tame broke, anger flooding him in an instant.

He abruptly turned towards Daenerys, unable to hide his rage and disappointment nor wishing to do so any longer.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, hurt hearable in his voice. "Why..."

She turned to him slowly, her eyes cold and disapproving. He didn't intend to surrender.

"If they want to prove their worth, they will do what I asked of them. And they will be granted a place in my army, which is a generous offer considering their past. Although..." She let her voice hang in the air for a moment and Tyrion knew what will come next. "In the last minutes, I received more truth from your brother, the Man Without Honor, than from you, my trusted advisor, in the last few weeks. Because you knew, didn't you?"

He decided to care for his own survival later. He had already failed Jaime enough times.

"So now you are going to punish him for all this honesty?" He got lost in his anger, almost forgetting who he was speaking to. "That's what it came to? You'll burn people alive out of sheer pleasure, just like your father was doing before you?"

If silence could get any louder it became just like that at the moment. Tyrion realized he had crossed the line as Daenerys' eyes transformed from freezing cold into ablaze. The atmosphere was so tense no one else dared to breathe, let alone speak, even though a lot of people thought exactly the same thing.

"I am not burning anyone alive, I repeat, I am giving them a choice and an opportunity to show their bravery." For a moment she was just looking at him, probably making a final judgment in her mind, this time concerning the second Lannister. "You are the Hand of the Queen. I do not have any desire to change it. But, conceal another important information or compare me to my father one more time and you might be the first in line."

There was something in her voice that made both Jon and Tyrion wonder whether she herself wasn't afraid of turning into her father. She knew she needed people like them around, the only ones who weren't afraid to tell her the truth, or rather what they believed to be the truth.

Tyrion understood, even though he was still angry at her and himself. It was neither the time nor the place to discuss his issues with her reign, so he decided to take a step back for now. He looked down at the floor and answered much quieter than before: "I understand, your Grace. And answering your question... yes, I knew about it. I didn't consider it important enough to bother you. I... There were more significant matters at hand and I forgot about it."

He couldn't stop himself from looking at Jon. Snow understood the meaning behind Tyrion's gaze and, embarrassed, turned his eyes away.

Daenerys sighed, once again seeming tired.

"If she's going to be as protective of her unborn child as a lioness is of her cub, then it was important," she said with resignation, passing her hand over her eyes in a weary gesture. "The next time you are in possession of some information, let me decide whether it is important."

"Of course."

Silence, once again. Brienne wasn't even sure what was happening anymore. As the events had gone on they had seemed to be less and less real, like she woke up in a peculiar nightmare of some kind. Her thoughts traveled to Jaime. Could he have met the dragon already? Could he have survived? She knew it was way too early for him to reach Drogon, yet she couldn't stop herself from imagining the "apology".

Tyrion, scorned like a child, felt completely out of place. He had been aware of the value of such an information and he realized now the decision not to disclose it had been his own conscious one, despite having tried to convince himself otherwise. He hated Cersei with his whole being, yet...

...yet he couldn't have betrayed his siblings' possible child. It was more important than Daenerys or the power play. It was about the family, or rather what was left of it.

It was Jon who finally decided to destroy the silence. He stepped towards Daenerys and was just opening his mouth to speak when some loud steps came from the corridor and in the next moment the doors opened with a loud crack. Jon's eyes widened as two panting, exhausted people burst into the chamber.

"What happened?" he asked, anxiously awaiting an answer.

He suspected it couldn't be anything good. It wasn't a day of positive news, after all.


	6. I See Fire

**A/N:** Once again, I am sorry for the delay. I planned to have this published in April, but university duties didn't let me. I will soon be taking exams, so time is still limited, but I'm hopeful towards the dates for the next chapters.

I doubt this one will satisfy you in any way. Here and in the next one are scenes not featuring either Jaime or Brienne; hope you'll forgive me that, but I just had to write them. Thank you for sticking with me and this story, and, most importantly, enjoy!

* * *

 **VI**

 **I See Fire**

Tormund Giantsbane and Berric Dondarrion stood in the open doorway, both panting heavily, their clothes ragged, dirty and wet, their faces tired, bruised and pale.

"What happened?" Jon was the first to react. After a passing moment of shock, he hurried towards the Wildling and made him sit on the nearest bench. Daenerys watched them cautiously, but Tyrion could say she was more agitated than seconds before, already sensing some new dread hanging in the air.

Tormund needed a moment to be able to speak, and even when he managed to steady his breathing the words were coming in spasms, his voice quivering.

"They brought back your dragon." He looked at Daenerys, who stiffened immediately. "Their fucking king on its back. They destroyed the Wall."

Tyrion felt all air leaving him in an instant and he could tell he wasn't the only one. Jon straightened and slowly turned to look at the Queen, but Tormund grabbed him by the collar of his fur and pulled his face closer, insanity shining in the Wildling's eyes.

"They destroyed the Wall, Jon. The fucking Wall. And killed all my people. Every last of them. These fuckers will pay for it," he whispered in delirium, his grasp weak from tiredness.

"We will make them pay," Jon promised and gently disentangled himself from Tormund's grasp. "You can be sure of that."

"What is the dragon like now?" Tyrion asked, seeing that Daenerys wasn't really able to form any coherent inquiry. She was standing motionlessly, frozen to her spot, her eyes widened and fastened on Tormund.

"Dead," Dondarrion stated the obvious and sat heavily next to Tormund. "Breathing some blue fire."

"And the Night King mounts it?" Jon enquired further, wishing to be certain he hadn't misheard the information.

"Yes."

The terrible truth swallowed them whole. It might have been the worst of the things they had heard this day; it didn't bode well not only for them but the whole humanity as well. The future had seemed uncertain for quite some time already and now it became some elusive fantasy existing only in their most naive dreams.

They couldn't wallow in their misery for long, though. They were responsible for the North and maybe even for the whole humankind. They had to take some actions even if they were destined to fail.

"When was it?" Davos spoke up, looking at the map of Westeros. Jon would have asked the same thing if he could shake off the unpleasant feeling that was squeezing his heart. All the information they had received this day concerned the events from the past. Wasn't the past an open book for Bran? Didn't he gaze into it as he only saw fit? And if so, why hadn't he informed them about all of those events? Why hadn't he seen it fit?

Jon turned around and discovered his once-a-brother was looking at him, his eyes expressionless, but also at the same moment so dreadfully cold Jon felt a shiver running down his spine. There was something dire in this gaze and this situation in general. He quickly turned back to the newcomers, but still felt the cold stare on his back. Did the Three-Eyed Raven know what he had been thinking about?

The Three-Eyed Raven, because Jon wasn't able to call him Bran anymore. It was Bran no longer.

"Who the fuck knows?" Tormund burst, his gaze completely wild. "We ran our asses out for days and nights."

"We lost track of time," Dondarrion added calmly. "Might be days, might be weeks. The Long Night was almost there around the Wall, so it was hard to tell."

"If they're moving towards us..." Davos pushed one of the pawns on the board towards Winterfell, "...they could be here any moment now."

"We still have time," Jon disagreed vehemently. They couldn't lose their spirits or else they would be gone. "We need to defeat the dragon first. We won't stand much chance as long as it is a part of their army."

"We can make the weapon." Tyrion quickly picked up on the idea, no longer feeling so hopeless. "Like the one Cersei's army had in the Reach."

"And a dragonglass crossbow," Jon finished with something akin to excitement in his voice. It seemed like the only thing they could do to save the whole Westeros from breaking apart, or rather it seemed like the only thought that kept them on the verge of hope, enabling them to escape from the cruel truth they were already lost.

Sansa looked at them both, their eyes glowing like they had just found a dragon egg, and she just wanted to laugh. Weren't men able to face the undeniable truth? They were here alone, facing the dreadful undead power which had its own dragon. No one will come to their aid and the enemy will arrive much sooner than it had been expected, so there was no time left to truly prepare. The Wall had been broken, and the second point of resistance will soon succumb to the same fate.

Tormund lifted his head and gazed upon Brienne, hope shining in his tired eyes. Unwillingly, she met his glare for a quick moment. There was too much in her head at the moment to focus on expressing her distaste straightforwardly, so she just looked the other way. He might have become a messenger of some important and disastrous news, but it didn't mean her attitude towards him would change in any way.

"Bronn could give us the details," Tyrion added, looking like he was ready to break into a run after the already half-dead ex-sellsword to get the design of the weapon.

"We must make it our priority," Jon nodded.

"We could also try dragon versus dragon," Davos suggested but was quickly met with Jon vivid objection.

"No." Snow shook his head. "It would be too dangerous for Drogon and Rhaegal, and we cannot afford to lose any of them."

They needed Dany's dragons to stay alive; plus, Jon had already once or twice caught himself thinking they were no longer "Dany's dragons", but his as well. He would never let anyone hurt them, not now when he was very close to loving and treating them as his own.

As the men were exchanging ideas concerning the assassination of the undead dragon, only few people took a closer look at Daenerys. Missandei made a step towards her with visible concern, but the Queen stopped her with a gesture of her hand and spoke up, her voice cold as ice, cutting through the air like a knife diving deep into the living flesh.

"If I hear anyone speaking about killing my child ever again, I'll personally see to it that they burn."

Silence returned to the Great Hall as no one dared to utter a single word. Jon stared at Daenerys with shock and concern. He could see she was trying to maintain her stonecold composure and her usual strength, but the tears shining in her eyes were giving her away. He thought how tragic everything had lately been for her - she had lost the birthright to the Iron Throne and her allies, and now her dead child reappeared as a creature from the worst nightmares. Those events couldn't have been easy to cope with.

"Leave us alone," he said firmly, looking at the people around them.

"No." Daenerys' eyes met his and he found himself terrified with what he saw there. " _I_ want to be alone."

It felt like a slap in the face. He just stared at her until her gaze shifted and landed on Tyrion. The words were directed to both of them, clearly indicating she had had enough of them and that they had disappointed her greatly.

Other people started leaving the chamber; only Missandei, Grey Worm, Jon and Tyrion didn't move an inch. Varys tried to wordlessly persuade his companion to follow him out the room, but Tyrion pretended he didn't see the Spider's insistent stares. His eyes were glued to Daenerys who lifted her head proudly and looked above the heads of the people, desperately trying to keep her emotions at bay.

"We need to kill him," Jon said vehemently, ignoring Davos the same way Tyrion had done with Varys. He was not going to be easily discarded. He was her family; it had to mean something, hadn't it? She should have at least listened to him. Because otherwise... Otherwise, he would be forced to act in a way he definitely didn't want to. He didn't wish to sit on the Iron Throne alone as the righteous king of Westeros, but if going behind Dany's back would prove to be necessary to save humanity, he will do what it takes. Even if a lot of hearts would have to be broken along the way, including his own. "He's no longer Viserion and you know that. He's a White... I don't know, White Dragon now. Viserion is gone. We have to kill him before he and his new master destroy the world as we know it."

His words hang heavily in the air as he was looking at her with hope, waiting for any sign of a positive reaction, of the slightest indication she at least heard what he had said. She didn't answer, gazing at him with superior defiance and unwavering power, yet he felt a thread of frailty in this facade; she had been strong when Viserion had died, but this... this might have been just too much.

"He's right," Tyrion spoke silently. Jon looked at him surprised; he almost managed to forget he and Dany weren't the only people in the room. "Viserion... he's not your child anymore. He's lost. You cannot save him now."

Jon frowned. He definitely hadn't thought she could see the dragon situation in such a way, it seemed just absurd. However, she hadn't dealt with the Others as long as he had been doing it. She didn't have his experience and maybe... maybe she just didn't know. Maybe she still had hope.

When Daenerys spoke again, her voice was different, more broken than before.

"Have anyone ever tried?"

She looked intently at Tyrion, visibly on the verge of breaking. It was like losing her dear child all over again, but this time to the enemy much worse than Death. Tears were shining in her eyes as her fists clenched in a desperate attempt to obscure the shaking of her hands.

"How would you even imagine it, my Queen?" Tyrion smiled at her sadly. "He will gaze upon you with his icy eyes and suddenly remember you once were his dear mother? It doesn't work this way, even though I truly wish it did."

She didn't break their eye contact, but she was no longer able to contain the tears. Not many people were around to witness them anyway - only her Hand, her lover and her two most loyal companions. She could allow herself a moment of weakness.

"We had a special bond. It doesn't change after death. It can't. It can't, because if it does, then it meant nothing, nothing at all. And it is not possible."

Jon felt his heart breaking seeing her in such pain, but he had to remain focused on the subject. They didn't have a choice but to kill the undead dragon; it was his task to convince her to let them do that.

"Daenerys..." He took a hesitant step towards her, reaching his hand in her direction. She gazed at him absently, tears staining her beautiful face.

"I am his mother," she said looking at him, but he felt like her stare went rather straight through him. When her eyes truly met his own, he saw a flicker of resignation there and thought she finally came to the right conclusions.

"We know it's difficult." He smiled comfortingly at her. "And we understand your pain. But it's something we have to do and you know it."

Her expression changed suddenly. Something in his eyes or his words made her retreat to her previous attitude. The tears dried out as the cold returned in her next words.

"Mothers fight for their children until their dying day. Mothers definitely do not help to assassinate their children. That is not what mothers do."

Tyrion caught himself thinking the three of them had no experiences of ever having a mother, so they didn't know what mothers did, but he managed to stop himself from saying it out loud in the last moment. Those wouldn't be the wisest words.

Jon released a quiet sigh, which enraged Daenerys even more.

"Look at you, my two faithful advisors." She smirked and approached Jon, who gazed up at her uneasily. He didn't like the tone of her voice. "You..." She reached her hand and in a surprisingly tender gesture caressed his cheek without looking him in the eyes. He almost allowed himself to lean into the touch, to lose himself in it; almost, because he knew it wasn't the beginning of something good, but of a thing rather opposite from such. When she gazed into his eyes there was no warmth in her irises whatsoever and it chilled him to the bone. "You are partially responsible for Viserion's death and yet you try to convince me my child dying and transforming into an undead creature that will wreak havoc next to the Night King is something I should just accept and without second thoughts end his new existence." She leaned closer to him, her lips barely an inch from his ear. "You can say you understand, but you do not and will never comprehend it. You're not a dragon. And you never will be."

As she took a step back her face was expressing the purest shade of distaste and nothing more. He knew she was deliberately trying to hurt him, but it still stung, especially the truth standing behind her words.

The Queen turned around to face Tyrion who decided to calmly await his fate. He knew it wouldn't be pleasant, but he wasn't going to interfere. The only thing he was anxious about right now, except for his brother's dreadful fate, was what Jon Snow might do if poked too deeply. The former King in the North could reclaim his power and authority any time if he just wanted to. The Northmen will never follow the foreign queen without his or Sansa's support and once again the army with a three-headed dragon on their banners will be left alone with no allies in Westeros. Tyrion couldn't let that happen. He had to be Daenerys' voice of reason in moments like this, when her own judgment was clouded.

"And you?" She scrutinized him with disdain. "You somehow omitted to tell me your sister will once again gain what I'll never have - a dynasty, even without your brother by her side, who, out of all people, turned out to be more honest than you. Get out."

They didn't move for a moment, just staring at her in silence.

"Daenerys..." Jon finally started, ready to tell her everything he thought, spill out all his heart; when she looked at him, though, her eyes once again lacking the coldness, but filled with sheer pain and nothing else, he lost all the words.

"Get out," she repeated, her voice quivering, and turned her back on him.

Jon gazed uneasily at Tyrion; the older man just nodded his head. They should have been going.

"Your Grace." Lannister bowed his head and moved to leave the chamber, gesturing to Jon to follow him. Casting one last glance at Daenerys' back, Snow did just that.

When the doors closed behind them, Tyrion looked at Jon with a sad smile. Snow reminded him of a lost puppy who was trying to play tough but failed entirely, revealing his soft side. They both probably needed some comfort right now.

"On a scale from slim to nonexistent, how do you estimate our chances?" he asked half-jokingly, trying his best to steer his thoughts away from everything that bothered him.

Jon gazed at him with concern in his eyes.

"I'm worried about her," he said, trying to reach the conclusion what his biggest concern truly was: the undead dragon, the army of the dead, the impending destruction of the whole Westeros, or his loved one's state of mind? Although his heart wanted to dictate him the right answer, he knew he couldn't allow himself that. He had to see the bigger picture, even if that might hurt both him and her in the process. People of Westeros, his people, were the most important thing and there had to be no doubt about it.

So why did it hurt so much?

"She just needs time," Tyrion answered with cheerful hope. _Which we do not have,_ he added in his thoughts.

Jon nodded slowly, seeing nothing else but the pain he had noticed in her eyes.

"Come. Let's have a drink." Tyrion slapped him on the back as high as he could reach and started walking towards the dining room. "Everything will stop looking so gloomy after ingesting some wine. Or even better, after a lot of good wine. Frozen people of the North do have such luxury, don't they?"

"I suppose we do." After a momentary hesitation Jon followed him, his mind clouded. He doubted he would find any solace on a bottom of a glass, but who could know where the answers were hiding. Maybe wine will know.

* * *

The moment they left the chamber, Sansa moved quickly away from the crowd and Brienne followed her absentmindedly. She was thinking about dragons - both the one that got killed and then resurrected, and the one that Jaime had to confront - when she heard a well-known voice coming from behind her.

"You know it's the end, aye?"

She sighed, knowing all too well what was to come, so she didn't even turn around or stop her march. Tormund quickly caught up with her and started staring at her intently as she didn't grant him as much as a passing look.

Silence didn't work, as he followed her forward without ever breaking his intent stare.

"No one knows it," she finally answered, realizing she had to play this game for a moment if she wanted to get rid of him sooner rather than never.

"Still, it might be our last chance to get to it." She was walking quickly, so he had some difficulty keeping up with her considering he had been running for the last few days on end. Apparently, he was determined enough to be relentless this time and abandon his usual lusty stares in favor of words. "Just imagine that - having me inside you, our bodies joined as one in a dance of desire..."

She grimaced and looked at him briefly with disgust.

"I'm not interested," she answered simply, but it wasn't enough to drive him away.

"You and I, writhing in your bed, making each other warm... And we'll all be dead tomorrow, so hey, no regrets! Though I don't know why you'd want to regret having me in you."

Her cheeks started burning at the mention of "making each other warm" as she remembered the images her mind had conjured when she had last heard this phrase. There had been some writhing in bed involved, but the man being there with her definitely wasn't the red-haired Wildling.

"Not interested," she repeated, hoping he hadn't seen her flush; if he had, he definitely would interpret it in a completely wrong way. She scolded herself for having such a reaction, but sadly, she could do nothing about it.

"Listen..." he started and grabbed her arm to stop her, which ended her patience at last. She turned to him abruptly, threw him on the nearest wall and twisted his own arm the way it went through his neck, creating a considerable pressure on his airways and making him low on oxygen. She would have dealt with him with little difficulty was he in his full strength, not to mention now, when he was tired and hungry. He seemed almost powerless in her iron grasp, his eyes glistening morbidly, his mouth moving as he tried to take a breath.

"When I say I'm not interested..." she said slowly, her voice dangerously low, her eyes burning with anger, "...it means I'm not interested."

Despite his noticeable difficulties with breathing, Tormund managed to grin widely at her and from the awe in his eyes Brienne realized she had made a mistake. The sheer strength she had treated him with and the act of pushing him against the wall were probably parts of some twisted fantasy of his, and she had just made them all the more real.

"W-when I say... I-I take it as a... a challenge, i-it means I... won't... give up... till... I... get... there," he stuttered proudly, still grinning even though a few tears of exertion appeared in the corners of his eyes. Brienne growled and let go of him which made him fall forward and basically crash into the opposite wall; he couldn't care less, focused entirely on catching his breath quite desperately.

Sansa appeared next to them, her blue eyes analyzing the situation carefully.

"Is he bothering you, Brienne?" she asked, looking at Tormund with visible distrust.

"No, my lady." The Wildling was just an obnoxious fly buzzing around Brienne's head which she couldn't get rid of and nothing more; no reason for concern whatsoever and definitely not something worth worrying her lady with. "Tormund is just tired."

Tormund beamed at her in sheer contradiction of her words before he turned around and walked the other way. They watched him go, after which Sansa resumed her abandoned march with Brienne following her close behind.

"If you would wish for some protection, I can order someone to guard your room at night," lady Stark offered without looking at her knight. If she could do anything to spare Brienne some of her own experiences, she would definitely do that.

"I appreciate the offer, but it will not be necessary. I can assure you there is no need for concern." Brienne could handle Tormund any time of day or night on her own, without anyone standing for her protection. She also reckoned whether she won't be not-so-forced to share her room from this night on. She envisaged Tormund's face the moment he would sneak into her bedchamber and discover she wasn't alone there, and her lips curved into a satisfied smile.

Sansa didn't continue the subject, suddenly coming to a halt before the nearest window facing north, her eyes fastening on the white horizon without actually seeing it.

"If only the likes of Wildlings were our only concern," she said bitterly as Brienne stood next to her, watching the winter landscape, seemingly so calm and peaceful, in truth hiding a lethal hell that could turn on them any moment now. Brienne felt her heart jump at the thought of the fight: she wanted to do something constructive finally - it had been far too long since she had been able to use her fighting skills. She missed it. "They might come any second and we're basically defenseless."

"As long as we are alive, we still have a chance."

Sansa gazed at her briefly, unsure whether she believed the same thing, then just nodded slightly and resumed her march ahead. There were plenty of things to do before the fight, and she was the one to take care of them.

If only she could erase the image of a field of white covered with her people bleeding to death, crying in agony or transforming into a burning pile of ashes, everything would be much easier.

If only.

* * *

Jaime stopped feeling anything, both physically and mentally, about halfway through their journey to the dragon. Bronn, though trying hard to regain some of his strength, was still limp and too weak to walk, and soon his weight made Jaime's body numb. Once they had left the castle the cold welcomed them back with cheer; the knight blankly realized he still wasn't dressed appropriately to the weather, having left Brienne's chamber only in the remains of his old cloak and in one of her furs. _Her_ fur. Did they know it was hers? Will she be in trouble for sympathizing with him and trying to stand for him? He had asked her not to protect him, but of course, she couldn't have listened. She wouldn't be her then. Still, anger and frustration were bustling in his veins. She wasn't supposed to sacrifice her good name for him, she wasn't supposed to sacrifice anything for him. He cursed her in his mind all over again; her golden heart that will be her ultimate damnation, her foolishly blue eyes, too trusting for her own sake, her head still filled with ideals, even though not so naive as those she had nourished until not so long ago. He was furious with her. If they punish her in any way, it will be her fault, not his. He had warned her.

The moment the thought crystallized he sighed deeply, piercing his lungs with frozen air. Even though she had acted the way she had, it was and will be his fault. He was to blame for everything that will become of her. She couldn't be responsible for the acts of her selfless heart, it simply was the essence of her being.

The thoughts of her fate, darkened by her vouching for him, made him feel numb mentally as the cold attacked his body with increased intensity. The element focused on his gloveless hand - his fingers started burning, the paradoxical fire spreading from the tips of his digits up his arm. He couldn't hide it into his clothes as it was the arm that held Bronn, so the only thing he was able to do was to repeatedly clench and unclench his fist in a desperate yet futile attempt to generate some warmth through the work of his muscles. Soon, way too soon, burning transformed into aching similar to the feeling of a thousand needles being stuck into his flesh. The same process was taking hold of his feet, although it was happening at a much slower pace. Walking seemed heavy, so heavy, and for a moment he felt like the whole day hadn't happened and he was still traveling with Bronn, closer to freezing to death than ever before. Maybe everything had been a bittersweet mirage created by his exhausted, dying mind.

The pain transformed into numbness as he was gradually losing feeling in his hand. It would be a real tragedy, he thought bitterly, to lose the only functional hand minutes before death. Death that was now the only certainty.

The whole road Podrick was sending him looks full of sorrow and pity; he didn't need it, so he fought hard to ignore his companion and focus on Mormont's steady steps ahead of him. Not once did the knight look back to check whether they were still behind him, but he probably heard the shuffling of Bronn's body as they dragged him through the frozen paths and Jaime's heavy breathing as he tried to convince his chest to resume its usual rhythmic movements. They followed Ser Jorah down the hillside path leading away from the castle and towards the Unsullied camp. Jaime gazed at the Queen's soldiers, gathered around their impromptu built shelters, and allowed himself a moment of awe. The eunuch warriors seemed unbothered by the cold as they were standing upright next to their tents or practicing their skills without any consideration of the falling snow and the chill that was eating Jaime from the inside. They didn't even stop their activities to notice the four passer-byes, barely glancing at their direction with no interest whatsoever. Jaime felt a sting of jealousy towards these men of steel and order; he wouldn't actually mind if someone offered him to exchange places with them right at this moment.

With such soldiers Daenerys was difficult to conquer; when added the fury and raw skills of the Dothraki, she should be unstoppable, if only the enemy was as alive as Cersei. He smiled to himself weakly; the notion of finally being on the right side, even though this side will ultimately be the cause of his death, brightened the darkness obscuring his thoughts. But soon the light got devoured by the flames that had been raging in his mind for quite some time. Death by incineration was the worst kind of all. The pain of own flesh burning while the victim was alive for dreadfully long, a smell of roasted chicken with the realization this chicken was their own body, the sound of the fire cracking and gnawing at them... For a moment he closed his eyes, feeling his heart skip a beat, but all he could see were flames: yellow, orange and red, they were feasting on his dead body, from time to time transforming into the beast he was about to confront... He quickly returned to the winter reality, his heart racing. Even though he was freezing, sweat covered his forehead where the snow couldn't reach his skin. As always, he was brave and unwavering. But as almost never, he was also terrified. Not of death, because it will just be the ultimate price for his sins, the one he deserved and had expected for quite a long time; he should have been grateful to his fate he had managed to reach Winterfell before that. Not of pain, because he was completely used to it. He was terrified of the beast and the fire of its breath and he could do nothing about it.

He was going to face the dragon with his head held high, with as much dignity as he could only muster. It didn't mean he wasn't frightened to death by this concept. Courage and fear often went hand in hand, even on a battlefield.

They were walking a windy path enclosed by trees when suddenly something changed: the snow started slowly dispersing and the air was getting warmer, more pleasant to breathe in. Soon there were no signs of winter any longer, but the burnt barks and bare bones of various animals lying on the ground signalized they were close to their destination. Jaime caught himself not breathing, so he forced his brain to focus only on this simple activity. The path went higher and suddenly opened to the substantial clearing, extending from the slight rise they were standing on to the foot of the hill some way up north. Here the temperature rose even higher, inducing sharp pain in Jaime's frozen limbs. He cursed the winter in his mind, but then his eyes caught the sight of the inhabitants of the glade and all of his coherent thoughts disappeared.

Dragons.

Mormont turned around and looked at the knights expectantly. Pod swallowed his saliva so loud Jaime could actually hear it and clung tighter to Bronn's shoulder. Bronn managed to utter a sound similar to laughter. Jaime stared at the bigger dragon, a large lump growing in his throat.

He had seen it before, in the field; it had been enormous back then, now it seemed even ampler in size. Its black scales shone in the winter sun to the point of being painful to look at, making the creature glow. Its teeth were bared as it feasted on its prey, tearing the pieces of meat apart.

It had to hear or smell them as it lifted its head and turned it towards them. Even from the distance that divided them, the orange of its eyes reminded Jaime of the sight of it just before Bronn had pushed him into the water. Did it remember them? Did it know what Jaime had tried to do back then?

"Drogon is the bigger one." Ser Jorah's voice reached Jaime's ears like through the mist, throwing him back into the reality.

He looked at Mormont and nodded his head in confirmation, then turned to Pod.

"You can go now," he said, which granted him a confused look.

"I'm not going anywhere." Pod shook his head vehemently, swaying Bronn's body in the process. The knight groaned in protest. "I'm staying here." Pod's voice wasn't steady, but he didn't look fearful. Jaime noticed the squire gazed everywhere but not at the dragons, and chuckled at him.

"Brienne will finish me off herself if I let any harm come to you. Go, Pod."

For a moment Podrick looked like he wanted to give a fight, his mouth opening to protest; but then the air flew out of his lungs and his gaze turned into a sorrowful one.

"I'll go," he said sadly, but still didn't let go of Bronn's arm. He dared a quick look at the dragon; as the orange eyes pierced his soul he immediately gazed back at Jaime, breath catching in his throat. "Good luck," he basically whispered and loosened his hold of Bronn. Jaime nodded his head in acknowledgment and fought hard to stifle a groan as the ex-sellsword's whole weight resided on his arm which was still painfully deciding whether it preferred to be half-frozen or slightly warmed up.

As Pod hesitantly turned away Jaime's attention returned to the dragon. It hadn't moved and was glaring at them hostilely.

Mormont cleared his throat, reminding the Lannister knight it was time.

"Any last word?" Jaime muttered to Bronn while he threw his friend's arm around his neck and took a step forward. Bronn's muscles were apparently resuming their function as he turned his head and gazed grimly at his companion.

"Is _fuck you_ good enough?" he groaned, his voice hoarse.

Jaime smirked.

"Can be," he answered and pushed them further. They were covering the distance between them and the dragon at a painfully slow pace while the beast apparently didn't intend to move. Jaime didn't look at it, focusing only on walking. He could feel the eyes of both the dragon and Ser Jorah, who was still standing near the line of the trees. His heart was beating loudly as his brain was trying to persuade him it wasn't too late to get out of it alive, but he ignored it completely. Next step was all that mattered.

He almost didn't notice when they finally approached the beast, but he felt its breath on his skin and heard it in his ears. He dared a glance up at it, at this enormous figure made of heat.

Their eyes met and Jaime felt his heart jump to his throat. The blazing orange looked at him with pure hatred and rage. Its eyes were narrowed like it was assessing its potential prey. What could it have been thinking while it had been watching its two enemies going its way, looking entirely like easy snacks sent by its mother? What could it think now, when they were standing so close to it like soon-to-be victims? Only one thing. And what could they do or say to make it change its mind? _We've come here with the most cordial intentions?_

It was ridiculous. Dragons were animals, so there was no way they understood the Common Tongue. Still, they were supposed to be smart, even dreadfully so. Through the mists of the past, Jaime remembered young Tyrion raving about how wonderful and intelligent the dragons had been and that he would have done everything to own one of them. Their sweet sister hadn't missed any occasion to remind him the creatures no longer existed, destroying his childish hopes and dreams; it had always been Jaime's job to make his little brother's world whole again.

The bittersweet memory dissipated into thin air when Jaime blinked and looked at the creature in front of him in a completely different way. The reminiscence had lasted only a few seconds, but everything seemed to be transformed. There was no longer only fire and vileness in the creature. Jaime felt a substantial power radiating from the beast, power that his fear had made impossible to sense; he saw wisdom shining in its eyes, wisdom that his prejudices had hidden from his sight.

It... No, not _it. He._ The beast had a name.

 _Drogon._

 _He_ will understand.

Without further hesitation, acting on an instinct, Jaime drew Widow's Wail.

"What are you doing?" Bronn hissed, trying to maintain his balance once Jaime stopped supporting him. Drogon narrowed his eyes some more, a low growl coming deep from his throat. Jaime knew the dragon was ready to set them aflame, but curiosity was holding him back. They were both perfectly aware Jaime wouldn't manage to mount an attack before Drogon's claws reached him.

Jaime didn't answer and, without losing the eye contact with the dragon, knelt down on both knees, laid his sword on the ground in front of him and lowered his head in a sign of sheer submission. The act surprised both Bronn and Drogon; Jaime could feel Bronn's incredulous stare at his back while Drogon stopped growling.

"Fuck." Jaime heard resignation in Bronn's voice as the knight weakly copied his gesture. It was the moment of the truth, of life or death: will the dragon understand what they were trying to communicate to him or had Jaime severely overestimated his intelligence?

Jaime felt the rush of hot air on his scalp as Drogon lowered his head to inspect the sword. The knight's mind projected yet another memory - different war, different animal, different him. The brief confrontation with Robb Stark's direwolf seemed to be nothing more than a child's play right now. Drogon definitely belonged to a different league.

As the moment lasted and the knights' lives were hanging by a thread, Ser Jorah Mormont watched it all from afar. Despite himself he was feeling respect for both parties involved. It took a lot of courage to stand up to a dragon; even he wouldn't do it lightly, and he was with them from the moment they had hatched. He watched now as Drogon determined what to make of this strange offering he had been given. He had to know it was an offering because otherwise the two men would already be roasting and they were still breathing. His orange eyes scanned the clearing in search of his mother, wishing to seek her advice or orders; they didn't find her though, stumbling upon the knight standing under the burnt trees instead. As their gazes locked, Jorah as usual experiencing a peculiar sensation of katharsis, the man pondered whether Drogon associated him in any way with the dragon's younger years. Could it mean anything for this creature made of fire and blood if there was no shield of the Queen's protective presence?

Drogon stared at Jorah for a few seconds, then turned his head towards the knights on the ground in front of him. Jaime saw the flash of the beast's teeth above and closed his eyes, convinced he knew what was to come. Some calmness spread through him as he waited to feel the pain shattering his body and soul.

However, nothing like that happened. Drogon growled, but it was a different growl than the one they had heard before - it seemed to be more of a warning than a sign of gathering the spark to ignite the fire. Jaime dared to gaze up; he found yet another threat in the dragon's eyes, though it was not a threat of immediate death. Then Drogon turned around abruptly, his tail swinging above their heads, spread his wings and rose into the air.

Jaime stared at him until he disappeared from the knight's sight. He needed some time to realize they had been, in a way, forgiven. They had just managed to do something impossible.

They lived to tell the tale.

* * *

 **A/N:** Just wanted to add that the accusations concerning Jon I put in Daenerys' mouth are partially my own. I do believe if he wasn't behaving so stupidly Viserion could still be alive and I was slightly angered by the fact no one even noticed that he acted like a fool.

And, by the way, I have no idea how to write Tormund... Which I think you have noticed already.

Till the next time!


	7. Broken, Beat and Scarred

**A/N:** Gosh. I wanted to make this chapter ready for my birthday, as I almost always publish something that day, and so I had to hurry up with editing. Therefore, I cannot guarantee the usual quality, as I'm immensely tired and grammar is the enemy now. But hey, I managed to do it on time!

Not one of my finest chapters (I feel like it's the worst one so far), but I can tell you it somewhat indicates the end of the first part of the story. With the next chapter, we will start the next part, which was more enjoyable to write and I hope will be more enjoyable to read.

You can call this one some kind of a filler chapter, most like chapter four. A lot of walking and talking (like the biggest majority of GoT episodes ;)). Of course, I expected it to turn out differently than it did; I've especially rewritten the first scene, I think it's now much more believable than the original draft. I promise this chapter is the last with scenes that don't feature either Jaime or Brienne. At least for now. I just can't help it when I see a scene in my head, I have to write it and then I want to share it with you.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **VII**

 **Broken, Beat and Scarred**

Jaime didn't dare to move for quite some time as he was subconsciously waiting for Drogon to come back and change his mind. But the seconds passed and nothing like that happened; they were still alive, and the dragon did not return.

The world suddenly seemed a much brighter and warmer place, and it wasn't only for the fact the clearing was the first area without snow he had seen in ages, or rather something that felt like ages.

"We're alive," he said loudly, both to Bronn and to himself, hoping that once he would hear those words spoken aloud he will finally believe their meaning. He realized it was the second time in the last twenty-four hours or so he had used that phrase to his companion. Will it become their habit now? Living from day to day, surprised by every new dawn, unsure of any future? "We're alive," he repeated joyfully, the chuckle of relief escaping his mouth. His ribs protested immediately; it seemed he had been holding his breath for quite some time during the confrontation and apparently his bones liked that state far more than the current one.

Well, they didn't have a say in the matter of breathing. He was alive and he was going to remain to be this way, at least in the nearest formidable future.

"We are?" Bronn lifted his head to hazily look around all too abruptly. "Fuck."

In the next moment, he turned sharply to his left, his body convulsing, and vomited in the dried bushes. As he was emptying the contest of his already empty stomach, Jaime felt anxiety growing inside him. Turning his head, he noticed the second dragon, maybe for the first time that day. The creature was lying on the other edge of the glade, his tail curled around his body. He looked like he was just awakening and the sight of the intruders made him curious. Even though Rhaegal looked much less terrifying than Drogon, Jaime had no intention of facing yet another dragon that day or any other day as a matter of fact.

Bronn spewed out whatever he had left in his intestines, coughed and then muttered through clenched teeth: "I'm going to kill this fucking maester."

"Hold your horses for a while," Jaime murmured, his eyes fastened on the other dragon. "Up."

He stood up slightly wobbly and moved to help Bronn, but the ex-sellsword quickly pushed his hand away.

"I'm fine," Bronn barked and tried to get up on his own only to fail immediately. He would fall to the ground if Jaime didn't manage to catch him in the last moment. As his weight collided with Jaime's bruised body, the knight couldn't stifle a gasp of pain; it was too much. Too much for his bones and muscles, too much for his tired mind, too much for this freakishly long and exhausting day that was still far from over. "I'll fucking kill him, I swear," Bronn continued undauntedly, not even noticing Jaime's struggle to keep them both upright.

"You wouldn't kill a squirrel right now. You need to sleep it off. And lose some weight while you're at it." Jaime grunted from the tremendous effort, threw Bronn's shoulder around his neck and pulled his companion towards the hillside path. The adrenaline that had been pumping in his veins all the way towards Drogon was now quickly diminishing and both the desperate need to get out of the clearing as quickly as possible combined with the fact Bronn was partially walking on his own weren't enough to make the road easier. He knew his strength will soon fail him, he just hoped they will manage to get out of the dragon's reach before it would happen. "Maybe you'll feel like a newborn after a good sleep. Newborns usually do not kill people."

"I'll be a newborn sociopath with an intense wish to kill." Bronn grunted as his foot hit a stone. He cursed under his breath, his eyes unintentionally stumbling upon Rhaegal. He stopped his movements so abruptly Jaime almost collided with the ground. "You've got to be kidding me."

"If you don't move your sociopathic ass no one will be kidding you," Jaime snarled, his tiredness and mild anger growing. Bronn gazed at him darkly, but without further comments cooperated until they reached Ser Jorah, who was still standing near the trees. Here, they were probably safe, with "probably" being the key word, as they could still feel the dragon's eyes boring into their backs.

They both leaned against the trees, calming their breathing and wiping sweat from their foreheads. The winter was completely absent here; the exertion and constant threat of death made them feel like they had just emerged from the greatest battle taking place in the midst of one of the warmest summers.

Jaime gazed at the older knight and, trying to sound calm and indifferent, spoke up: "You can tell the Queen we passed the test."

"It wasn't a test," Mormont quickly answered.

"What was it then? Execution in a way and place where no one could hear our screams?"

"No." Ser Jorah was completely unmoved. "It was an opportunity you didn't deserve."

Bronn chuckled humorlessly.

"You can tell your Queen…"

"…that we are grateful for granting us this chance," Jaime cut him off quickly, sending him a _keep your mouth shut_ stare. "Our Queen."

Mormont nodded.

"I trust you will find your way back," he said in a tone which suggested he wasn't especially willing to grant them a helping hand.

"We will." And Jaime wasn't willing to ask for any help, even though he had serious doubts concerning their way back to the castle. He was too weak to haul Bronn through the freezing snow yet again; he was probably too weak to haul even himself. If he could save whatever was left of his pride though, he was going to take his chances. He won't beg anyone for help, the likes of the Mormont knight specifically.

Ser Jorah nodded once again, turned around and walked away quite quickly. The knights followed him with their eyes until he disappeared from their sight, then Bronn huffed.

"I was just going to pound some truths into this narrow Targaryen-loving head of his when you blatantly interrupted me!"

"I know, that's exactly why I interrupted you," Jaime muttered, trying his best not to gaze behind his back at the dragon, who was probably still staring at them. "We don't need any new enemies here."

"Everyone here is our enemy. Everyone everywhere is our enemy." Bronn gazed briefly at Jaime, assessing him carefully, then shrugged. "Maybe soon you'll be my enemy as well."

Jaime gazed tiredly at Bronn and sighed. "I'm telling you once again, I did not force you to come here with me. I might be a fool for wishing we could be forgiven, but I do not regret coming here. And you are always free to go."

"Go where?" Bronn looked around to indicate there was literally nowhere to go and his eyes stumbled upon Rhaegal once again. The dragon was slowly standing up, shaking off the remnants of sleep. "Winterfell, for example?"

"This is quite a good idea, my soon-to-be-enemy," Jaime snickered and offered Bronn his shoulder. One look at the rising dragon was enough for the ex-sellsword to not protest anymore and receive the help.

They didn't speak until they reached the kingdom of eternal winter. They walked as quickly as they could through the pain and tiredness, fighting their weaknesses with every single step. After a few treads into the deep snow, far away from the clearing, they parted once again, Jaime realizing he had been holding his breath for gods knew how long because it became too painful to breathe. Bronn stumbled backward trying to hold his balance on his own, panting. Jaime for the longest moment in his life couldn't breathe; everything hurt, everything burnt and there was no air, air which from pleasant turned into icy, attacking his tired lungs. He thought he would suffocate, his whole chest on fire, fire that Drogon had spared them; black spots started dancing before his eyes and his ears filled with a low hum. He didn't hear or see Bronn as breathing became the most important thing, the only one he desired, the only one he had no idea how to achieve.

He fell to the ground and the impact of the collision somehow activated his breathing centers. He gasped and took the deepest breath he was able to, which resulted in a violent cough. Everything hurt and burnt even more, but at least he could breathe; he felt even bigger relief than when he had realized Drogon had flown away and left them be.

Bronn stared at him, breathing almost as heavily.

"If you need the miracle poison, I think I can get you some." He tried to chuckle but his face was too frosted to succeed in doing so.

"Fuck off," Jaime muttered, getting back onto his feet. The ground was unsteady; it seemed like the soil underneath him developed an ability to move and was running away from him. Looking at the non-existent path in front of them, as the snow had already managed to cover everything with a white, thick cloak, he couldn't stifle a groan. "We'll never get there."

Bronn gazed in the same direction and nodded solemnly.

"Aye. If you're going to stay here and complain we won't get anywhere."

This time it was him who extended his arm to Jaime. The knight chuckled humorlessly but nonetheless accepted the help.

They resumed their journey, moving forward at an excruciatingly slow pace, step by step, hauling one another. Bronn seemed to be getting stronger with time, while Jaime, on the contrary, was losing whatever force that had been left in him. Snow was falling heavily, soon turning them into creatures of white; their feet were slumping deep into the heaps, making them stumble every few steps. From time to time they had to stop so Jaime could focus on his breathing, as there were moments when doing two things at once was just too difficult. The road this time seemed endless, much longer and more difficult than before. Oh, how much they would give for Podrick's assistance right now...

After what felt like an eternity of limping, with growing terror they realized they just reached the Unsullied camp, which meant they had covered approximately half of the road.

"You were right. We won't get there," Bronn muttered. He was getting stronger, but not strong enough to be able to basically carry Jaime's weight on him, as the Lannister knight seemed now drained of all kinds of energy. Bronn experienced a morbid sense of déjà vu; once again, the two of them were alone on the fields of winter, almost dying, with no one to help them. Well, there were soldiers around them this time, but chances the eunuch warriors would ever help them were slim to none.

Finally, Bronn loosened his hold of Jaime; this sudden lack of support made the knight stumble and fall into the snow. The white mass wasn't even cold anymore, it just seemed so pleasant to have a steady ground underneath. Bronn sat heavily next to Jaime, the dense snow coming apart under his weight.

"You know..." he spoke after a moment of silence, staring at the Unsullied in front of them. "It's been a hell of a journey. Sure, I would very much prefer to fuck some gorgeous dornish beauty on the beach burnt by the sun, near my equally gorgeous castle, but at least I still know my life's better than these ones here."

Jaime looked at him in a complete indifference, but before he could reply Bronn's expression suddenly changed.

"Do you see the same thing I do?" he basically whispered, his eyes wide, his brows furrowed. To Jaime's biggest surprise, he discovered something in Bronn's voice he had never heard from his companion before - hope. Apparently, there was a crack in a usually carefree and money-oriented attitude Bronn had always exhibited.

When Bronn stood up using Jaime's shoulder as a support all of his musings disappeared, making way for the sudden wave of pain. He needed some time to recover before he turned his head in the direction Bronn was staring at and narrowed his eyes like it could help him see something through the falling snow. There, some distance from the Unsullied Camp, was a rider with two additional horses. Or rather seemed to be. As this cold-induced hallucination grew closer - because it couldn't be anything else, or... could it? - Jaime recognized the small posture, the black hair and a timid smile of the rider.

"Two times in a row," Bronn commented when Podrick got close enough to hear him. "They should give you a knighthood for that."

Pod grinned at him, visibly happy he found them in one piece, still breathing.

"My lady thought you might need some assistance."

Bronn chuckled and gazed at Jaime, who only grimaced weakly in response. He wasn't going to engage in a conversation with a hallucination.

"Your lady thought well. Now give me that horse." Bronn reached for one of the harnesses Pod was holding in his hands. The squire immediately obeyed, passing it to the knight. It didn't stay in Bronn's hand, though, as his fingers refused to cooperate some time ago. It only made Jaime more convinced their minds were playing games with them.

Pod dismounted his horse and, accompanied by more than a few "fucks" from Bronn, assisted him in getting up on the animal. Jaime watched them with curiosity, marveling at how real the mirage felt. It wasn't until he let Pod help him stand up that he believed it was really happening. Once again, they were rescued from the cold. Once again, they could safely reach Winterfell walls. Once again, they could survive.

The rest of the road back, with the horses led by Podrick, seemed like a dream. It was still too cold to think, and the sweet oblivion was slowly taking hold of them, but they no longer had to haul each other or force their legs to tread through the snow. It was a bliss. Soon, it really became a dream.

When they reached Winterfell, Pod realized both his companions were already snoozing in their saddles. He didn't wake them up until they were well behind the gates, near the stables. Once there, he gently brought them back to reality.

They were tired, so immensely tired it felt almost surreal. Even though they were still on the open ground, they were now sheltered by Winterfell walls and it seemed like spring, like the winter had just ended and let them be. Jaime felt heat rising to his cheeks as the rest of his body started stinging, reminding him of the fact he was still in the possession of it. The only thing he dreamed of right now was, once more, a warm bed. This time, though, he had a concrete bed in mind.

Pod made Jaime wait by the fire in the stable while he escorted Bronn to their shared chamber. It seemed like he was gone forever, as Jaime hovered near the flames, his exhausted mind showing him all kinds of images he didn't wish to see. Fortunately for him, the majority of them didn't last long and vanished from his memory as soon as they appeared. This peculiar state between the reality and the dream lasted until Pod reappeared and hauled him to Brienne's chamber.

The long stony corridors seemed much longer and colder than usual, but finally, they reached the room. Brienne wasn't there; the chamber stood empty, begging for someone's presence and a little bit of warmth. While Pod busied himself with reigniting the fire in the hearth, Jaime basically threw himself onto the bed. Before the squire managed to truly set the wood aflame, he was already fast asleep.

* * *

Sansa received declarations of readiness from every lord or lady of every house present at Winterfell; they were all prepared to fight for their lives, for the North. She hadn't told them any details of the last meeting, suspecting there will be some bigger gathering the same day and not wishing to make them frightened before it. The concept of an undead dragon burning icy fire might raise some fears.

Brienne had been following her lady like a shadow, basically being of no bigger use, so her thoughts flowed freely, only in one direction. She wished she had something more concrete to do to keep them at bay, but sadly there was really nothing to do now as they didn't even know how the morning's meeting had ended. The only constructive thing she had done was sending Pod with horses to aid Jaime and Bronn with the journey back from the dragons. If they were still alive, of course. She didn't dare to think otherwise.

Treading the castle for what seemed like a millionth time, Sansa suddenly stopped, making Brienne almost collide with her. Luckily for them both, Brienne managed to find her balance just in time to prevent them from crashing. Sansa, completely unaware of the transient threat, turned and took a few steps in the direction they were coming from until she came to a halt before a small chamber adjacent to the kitchen that was bursting open. Then she sighed heavily and looked at Brienne.

"Stay here," she said and walked inside. Brienne moved towards the door and took a position just next to it, only briefly glancing into the room to discover Jon Snow sitting at the table with his head hanging low, two cups of wine standing in front of him. For a moment she wondered whether she should close the door, but decided not to; if Sansa needed that much privacy, she would do it herself. Instead, Brienne just leaned more comfortably against the wall and listened to the voices from inside the chamber while partially letting her thoughts run freely.

Before long she heard footsteps coming from the adjacent corridor and turned her head to look in that direction.

Tyrion was vigorously coming back from tending to his physical needs to his shared with Jon pit of misery. He quite merrily emerged from the corner and spot a sight of Brienne of Tarth standing near the door, fully straightened, with her usual stern expression and his steps faltered. She noticed him almost immediately, casting him a polite, yet disinterested glance. He felt a silly need to run away, but had to continue his march nonetheless; it would look rather stupid if he turned around now. The woman scared him in the most peculiar of ways, making him uncomfortable; her gigantic posture looming over him the way towers did, her unwavering resolution, her blue gaze that seemed to touch his soul directly. He swallowed and approached her uneasily.

"Would you mind if I joined you?" he asked, trying his best for his voice to come out casual. If she was standing here, that meant Sansa was inside and had some important conversation with her so-called brother which he had no intention to interrupt.

"No, I wouldn't," lady Brienne replied as he took his position next to her along the wall.

He gazed at her askance, feeling her shadow swallowing him whole. His eyes slid down onto her sword; he really wished to ask her about it, to inquire about her relations with Jaime, but found himself in a lack of words. It had been easier to talk to the dragons, he noticed absently. Maybe one day he will converse with lady Stark's personal knight and his brother's... whoever she was for Jaime, but such a day was yet to come.

And so they were standing there in silence, listening to the quiet voices coming from the chamber, Brienne's eyes fastened on the wall in front of them, Tyrion's being all over the place. As his thoughts wandered to Jaime, he suddenly reckoned whether she was thinking about his brother's fate as well; he cast her yet another look and noticed something he hadn't seen before - a worry that in a way radiated from her features, seemingly hidden yet so obvious if one knew what to look for. He felt strangely comforted: she had some human emotions after all, and even mirroring his own. He smiled to himself, leaning against the wall more relaxed, now able to calmly overhear the conversation between the wolves.

When Sansa entered the chamber Jon lifted his head and gazed at her, first detachedly, like he hadn't fully recognized her, then with sorrow and pain in his dark eyes.

"What happened?" she asked, sitting down next to him at the table.

He stared at her sadly for a while before speaking up: "I failed," he said, then took a big sip from his cup, his eyes now fastened on the wall in front of him. "I failed and we are going to lose."

She didn't answer, just looking at him and fighting the urge to say they were probably going to lose either way. They lacked trained men, dragons, weapons, food, clothing, living quarters. They basically lacked everything.

"I don't know how to get to her. And I need to do something." She wasn't sure if he was really talking to her or rather just loudly to himself. There was something in his eyes, face and whole posture that finally made her realize the basic truth she should have seen from the very start.

"Do you love her?" she asked him straightforwardly. He gazed up at her with surprise in his eyes. He didn't really have to reply; she already found her answer in his grey irises, somewhere behind the shock her question evoked.

"What does it matter?" He turned his gaze away, his voice resigned and reluctant. "She won't listen to me. She thinks I just want to kill her dragon, that I don't understand. He's a part of their army now, we have to kill him."

Sansa was silent for a moment, analyzing the situation. When she started speaking her voice was calm, comforting and cautious: "Imagine it was me."

Jon frowned and looked at her, surprised and not understanding what she was getting at.

"Imagine I was turned into a wight," she continued. "Would you find it easy to kill me?"

He was silent for a moment, simply staring at her.

"No," he finally admitted.

"Would you be able to do that, even knowing there was no hope for me?"

"No." He couldn't imagine being forced to do that.

"So go and talk to her like that, tell her you understand and do understand. She knows for sure there is no hope, but it's a new situation for her. You're in it a lot longer than any of us and still, it's not something you consider normal, isn't it? Show her you'll be there for her. Show her you understand."

Jon stared at her wide-eyedly for a long moment, letting her words settle in, letting their truth embrace him.

"Thank you," he said suddenly like she had just opened the gates to some profound mystery before him, jumped to his feet, kissed her on the forehead and exited the chamber, leaving her alone to stare at the small window, the main source of light in the room.

She wasn't alone for long, though. Tyrion's and Brienne's eyes followed Jon until he disappeared behind the nearest corner, casting them a quick, apologetic smile as he passed them. Tyrion looked at Brienne and took a step forward.

"I'll... just..." He gestured awkwardly to indicate he was going inside. Brienne just nodded her head and watched him disappear into the chamber. What a peculiar little lion he was, she thought, so different from his brother, yet in a way also really similar. Both had hearts of gold the world refused to see - with Tyrion because it didn't care, simply labeling him as a dwarf and treating that fact like the only information it needed to possess about him; with Jaime because he himself suppressed it, succumbing to the Kingslayer nickname.

She changed her position, feeling slightly numb from the hardness of the wall, and continued her partial listening to what was happening inside the chamber, and partial wondering about the Lannister brothers, both of them this time.

Sansa lifted her head and looked at Tyrion wordlessly as he slowly approached the table.

"Those were some wise words of a wise person," he said solemnly, realizing that it will be their first real conversation since Joffrey's wedding, which seemed like a lifetime ago. In a way, it was a lifetime ago, even a few lifetimes for both of them.

"I've learned a lot," she replied, remembering her words to Petyr during his execution. She was a slow learner, but she did learn eventually.

"I don't doubt it." Tyrion smiled and lowered his eyes, feeling unsure. He didn't know how to behave around her; he had planned to talk to her since his arrival to Winterfell, but, though he didn't know why, they had greeted like two people who knew almost nothing about one another and since then he hadn't known how to resume their acquaintanceship. He still didn't. "I've missed you," he murmured, grabbing the back of the nearest chair and squeezing it in a desperate need to have something in his hands.

"No, you haven't."

He looked up at her; she was watching him calmly and expressionlessly, her seeming indifference digging a hole in his stomach.

"Fine," he muttered, finally sitting in the chair and gazing at her with sincerity. "But I did think about you from time to time."

"It is enough." She finally smiled at him, although it was a restrained, carefully-balanced smile. She could tell him she had thought about him from time to time as well; every time Ramsey had hurt her, she had remembered Tyrion's kindness and his strong resolution to never touch her against her own wishes. She had remembered how they had laughed at the people who had offended them. She had remembered he had been one of the few people who had always been kind to her and had never meant her any harm.

"Sansa, I..." he started, but she quickly cut him off.

"Don't." She didn't want him to explain anything; besides, what was there to explain? Why hadn't he come to her sooner? Why hadn't he supported her when she had been trying to make them listen? No, she didn't need explanations for that. "I don't need that."

She really didn't. She couldn't care less about anything else than protecting her homeland from being destroyed and erased from this realm. It was the sole important thing.

"I just wanted to say I wish all of it happened differently." He had heard about her times with Ramsay Bolton; if even a small portion of what he knew was true, he shuddered to think about the things that weren't the common knowledge.

She didn't answer and just looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"You've changed, my lady," he said silently, suddenly feeling he owed her the title. She wasn't the Sansa he had come to know. She wasn't _his_ Sansa anymore, he caught himself thinking.

"Haven't we all?" she noticed and gazed into Jon's cup, then experimentally took a sip out of it.

"We indeed have." There was a radiance of respect and power around her that created an impenetrable wall. The little sweet cub grew up and became a mighty she-wolf.

There was still some boyish need in him to protect her from any harm, even though he had failed at that immensely in the past. Clearing his throat, he decided to switch to some lighter subjects, if there were any, but before that he needed to drink. He refilled the cups and said sincerely: "Thank you for what you did for Jaime."

Definitely not a lighter subject, but it was something he had to say. He had to thank her for doing what should have been his task.

"I don't think it helped him in any way," she noticed, embracing the cup like it could give her any warmth or shelter, like it could give her anything besides a sweet oblivion.

"But you at least tried. I did nothing." She looked up at him and saw guilt in his eyes. He did blame himself for what had ensued.

"You aren't in fault for his bad choices," she said calmly. "Now it all depends on Drogon."

He chuckled bitterly; suddenly the eternal love he had always felt for dragons started to seem surrealistic and completely unjustified. Truth be told, a lot of things had seemed surrealistic for quite some time already.

"For Drogon!" He lifted his cup with feigned merry. Sansa smiled and raised her own vessel.

"For Drogon."

The alcohol felt bitter on Tyrion's tongue, as bitter as he felt inside. There will be no joy until he would find out what happened between Jaime and Drogon, and it could take some time. He thought he could have gone with his brother; he was accustomed to dragons already, maybe he would be of some help. Maybe...

Maybe then he wouldn't feel as useless as he did now.

Brienne, hearing their conversation, felt her breath halting in her throat. It all depended on Drogon... Suddenly the hope she hadn't even known she had been leaning on dissipated and she felt cold dread flooding her. For a moment she thought she would prefer Jaime dead on the road to Winterfell than now, barely a moment after... after she got him back. The last memory she would have had of him then would be his harsh behavior at Dragonpit; she wouldn't let her mind wander into some hidden, never uncovered terrain. Her heart wouldn't get reminded of the things that should have remained subconscious. She wouldn't think that she just got him back to lose him all over again. And she'll lose him before...

 _Before what, Brienne?_ A voice inside her head asked mockingly. Before fully recommencing their friendship was the right answer. That was all she wanted. Or rather that was all she convinced herself she wanted.

Feeling resignation growing within her she sighed and looked disinterestedly into the corridor; her heart skipped a beat as she saw Podrick rushing towards her.

* * *

"How was the dragon?"

The words awoke Jaime from the slumber. For a moment he couldn't distinguish his surroundings or connect the events of the last few hours so they would make some logical whole. He wondered whether all of it wasn't just a dream; maybe now he was waking up for the first time after the cannibals? Maybe he still had those highly humiliating and uncomfortable discussions ahead of him?

He leaned on his elbows and sat up feeling sore, his mouth dry and numb. He was still tired, but not as much as before. He felt like he was freed of some worries that had stormed his mind making it impossible to truly rest. Looking up he saw Brienne, who was gazing at him with a soft smile, relief obvious in her eyes, although she wasn't going to say how happy she was to see him well; once a day was definitely enough. What she could tell him, though, was that she didn't need to worry about him so many times during such a short amount of time.

However, she didn't say it, just waiting for his answer. The question about the dragon and the sight of her made him realize the rest of this day wasn't a dream. Everything had really happened – the dragons, Targaryen Queen, winter in the North. It was his new reality. He was glad Brienne could be a part of it because otherwise, it would all look rather gloomy and depressing.

"In quite a gracious mood," he answered, trying to erase the image of that fire-breathing muzzle and sparkling eyes, although he suspected it will become the main subject of his nightmares for days to come. Seconds later he decided it wasn't that bad; his dreams had been nightmares for way too long, consisting of blazing battlefields, screams as his men were burning alive, the dragons and Cersei, who was always somewhere there, lurking in the darkness to deliver a final blow, her green eyes flaring just the same, staring at him with hatred and contempt, despising him. If Drogon was to become the only element that would remain, it could be a vast improvement.

"They are beautiful though, aren't they?" The soft smile on her lips and the dreamy haze to the blueness of her irises indicated that for a brief, fleeting moment she traveled to a completely different location in time and space, some long forgotten past when the young fair-haired girl wished to be a Targaryen warrior on a dragon. She sounded like she was talking more to herself than him, yet he suspected she wouldn't let herself get so drifted away in someone else's present. He gave her some time, just watching her and realizing in the last few hours he had witnessed a lot of different shades of her, maybe even more than in the last few years. Never before had he seen her caught in a dream; _what a shame,_ he thought, as she seemed to glow with the sheer force of a memory.

"I don't really know, everything I ever get to see is their teeth," he finally retorted, waking her up from the dream. He hated dragons with a burning passion, but he understood that for some people their beauty was as undeniable as for him their fire was deadly.

Brienne looked at him startled, like she couldn't believe she let anyone see her like that, vulnerable and exposed. Her guards were down when she was around him, dreadfully so; it was getting worse with every single encounter. It scared her. The concept of what could happen if her guards would be finally destroyed scared her even more, for all variety of reasons.

She cleared her throat uneasily and decided to come back to the more solid ground. War, for example, was a perfect topic.

"There is a meeting everyone is to attend," she said firmly and straightened up, like it would help her shield herself against him, or rather against her own feelings, unwelcomed thoughts and desires his sight evoked.

Jaime moaned with exasperation and fell back onto the bed.

"You don't have any time to rest here."

"It's not usually like that." She looked at him wearily. "Tormund brought some important information after you and Ser Bronn went to see the dragon."

"Who's Tormund?" he asked, frowning. He hadn't heard that name before.

"Jon Snow's Wildling." She tried to remain casual, talking about Tormund the way she would do about any other Northern soldier; she had to fail, though, as Jaime sat back up and looked at her scrutinizingly like he wanted to search for the answers in the depths of her soul. She felt her mouth go dry under his gaze.

"You have something against Wildlings? Lady Brienne, I would never suspect you of lack of tolerance!" He made his voice sound indignant, having decided to first try a japing approach and then, if needed, let his concern show.

"I don't have anything against Wildlings," she denied, sighing. "I just..." She looked at him, remembering all those moments when Tormund had performed his tricks on her and all she could have thought about had been how different he was from Jaime and how much she had wanted to have her lion around. She had him here now. Although he wasn't _her_ lion, she had to remember that. She could lie to him, tell him it was nothing; but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wasn't fond of lying in general and she definitely wouldn't lie to him of all people. "I have something against him."

Jaime turned serious now, feeling anxiety and worry growing inside him.

"Has he ever done anything against your will?" he asked and the tone of his voice made Brienne's cheeks turn redder for what seemed like a millionth time that day.

"Do you really think he would still be well if he tried?" she answered with a question of her own. He chuckled.

"Do forgive me, I had to forget who I was speaking to."

"I don't need protection..." she started slowly, letting the words sink in.

"I know you don't."

"...but thank you for your concern," she finished, retaining their eye contact. He smiled.

"Anytime."

There was a momentary silence that threatened to engulf them whole as they stared into each other, so Brienne quickly looked away.

"I brought you some fresh clothes," she said, putting a stack of clothing next to him on the bed, being careful as not to do as much as to look at him in such a proximity; it might have some disastrous consequences she didn't dare to think of as the thoughts might as well betray her. "I'll wait outside."

Jaime smirked, raising his brow.

"We'll go together? Won't your Wildling be jealous?"

She cast him a weary look, but smiled.

"We'll see," she answered and then left the room.

The silence that embraced the chamber enabled Jaime to gather his thoughts. His blood boiled at the thought of some bothering her barbarian. Did he devour her with his eyes? Did he strip her bare in his mind? Did he fuck her in his deranged fantasies? Even Jaime didn't have such fantasies and no one should have; she was way too pure to be treated like some sheer sexual object. No, she needed to be respected and loved, she needed so much more than anyone, especially a Wildling, could give her.

He suddenly wanted to laugh at himself. He wasn't in any way better or purer than any other man, even a Wildling one – he might not have fantasized about _fucking_ her, but there were thoughts, there were images, vivid in his mind. Touching her in ways no one before had ever touched her, pleasuring her the way she would like to be pleasured, bringing her to the edge all over again. He was guilty of these charges and so much more.

 _Enough,_ he thought and stood up. She was waiting for him and he couldn't let her wait for too long. He discarded the old, ragged and bloodied clothes and put on the one she brought him, whole, clean, warm. Then he hesitated slightly before taking the fur. It was her fur, all in all, and maybe considering the not-so-warm reception he had been granted it wouldn't be wise to put it on. What would they think if they connected it with her? What would they say if they caught him parading in Brienne of Tarth's cloak?

He slowly picked it up and buried his face in it, feeling for her, seeking her in it. Through the smell of leather and fur, he found her tone, the breath of her, one of a kind. It was mesmerizing, threatening to intoxicate him.

But he had to go. Repressing the paranoid sensations, he put the fur on and decided to leave the chamber. First, it was only fur. He knew it was hers, she knew it, Pod knew it, maybe Sansa; but furs looked similar and no one will analyze whether they saw it before on someone else. It was truly paranoid. Second, he had already parade in it the whole day. Third, what would he tell her if she asked him why he didn't wear it? That he wanted to prevent her good name from tarnishing? He imagined the look she would give him and chuckled internally, finally leaving the room.

He was sure the North awaited them with more less-than-pleasant surprises.


	8. No Rest for the Wicked

**A/N:** I planned to have so much more in this chapter, but sadly it would get way too long then. Even without additional content, it's probably the longest chapter as far. So one of my favorite B&J scenes will come in the next one, sadly.

Share with me your thoughts after reading and, most importantly, enjoy!

* * *

 **VIII**

 **No Rest for the Wicked**

During their walk to the Great Hall Brienne awkwardly got Jaime up-to-date with everything that had happened in the last few years that he wasn't aware of. It was safer to talk, as silence threatened to flood her head with thoughts she shouldn't have had. And Jaime was curious enough to make the conversation flow smoothly, asking questions about details and sometimes interrupting the course of the story to find out what she had been doing at given time, which made her answers even more ungraceful. She definitely didn't like talking about herself, but he seemed to thoroughly enjoy hearing it, forcing her to reveal more and more. Especially a mention of her fight with The Hound ignited his curiosity; for Brienne's taste, it should have remained just a mention, but once Jaime caught the topic he wanted to know everything about it. She described the whole fight neutrally like it didn't concern her, feeling uncomfortable at the fact she had to narrate her own victory. Jaime watched her with growing amusement as she writhed around the topic so as not to dwell on her achievements, and with absolute respect at how wonderfully skilled fighter she was. He wished he could try to spar with her at least one more time and felt a sting of pain that he would never be able to do that.

"He must have been delighted when he saw you again." He smirked, remembering Clegane had been a member of Daenerys' party in Dragonpit and as such was probably in Winterfell as well.

Brienne shrugged.

"We have good relations," she said like it was a completely normal thing to be casual acquaintances after almost killing one another.

She strode further as Jaime looked at her with astonishment, hiding his admiration. He shouldn't have been surprised though; hadn't they themselves been enemies when they first met?

Brienne pondered excessively whether she could tell him what she wanted, but finally made her decision. Considering he had been forgiven by both the Queen and her dragon, she believed she had the right to disclose to him the biggest secret Westeros had ever known. First, she made him solemnly swear not to pass the information to anyone else. He laughed at the firmness in her voice and eyes but nonetheless promised her what she wanted. When she finally revealed the most important truth he stopped dead in his tracks.

First, he wanted to laugh, but then he realized Brienne wasn't the one to tell jokes, and his face grew serious again.

"Snow's what?" he asked loudly, staring at her wide-eyedly, shock and disbelief clearly written all over his features.

"You promised to keep silent," she reminded him, grateful to the Seven no one was close enough to hear anything or else they would be in a serious trouble.

"Fine," Jaime muttered, resuming their march. "But that was rather... unexpected."

"Currently it is also rather dangerous knowledge," she noticed and quickly changed the subject. The awkwardness was gone when she told him about current war plans that had been made so far, or at least what she knew about them considering even her lady hadn't been fully informed, and about all the news Tormund had brought. Jaime absorbed the information with a storm in his heart, especially when he heard about the undead dragon. Brienne saw his discomfort and tried to smile at him comfortingly. She was painfully aware of the fact she had no idea how to comfort people. Lift their spirits by telling them the harshest of truths, yes, but tell them soft words that would make their worries go away? No. No one had ever depended on her doing such a thing and she herself didn't deem it necessary, so she had never acquired that skill. "We will probably hear more about it at the meeting."

Jaime nodded absently, trying to fathom the idea of a creature worse than a living dragon. He failed.

They reached the Great Hall unbothered by anyone and anything except for the hostile glances Northmen were throwing at Jaime's direction. Jaime ignored them completely, entirely used to it, but Brienne, though without acknowledging it out loud, was answering with stares of her own. She was going to protect him from hostilities as much as she could. Jaime could tell her there was no need for it, but something in her shielding him and his name from harm - or rather what was left of his name - made him feel the warmth spreading from his heart, the kind of warmth he hadn't felt in ages. Cersei could have never endowed him with it; the only thing she ever had for him was the coldness and physical desire. So as long as Brienne's protection didn't threaten her own good name and life, he wasn't going to interfere; she wouldn't listen to him anyway.

He realized it was the first time in more than a few hours he thought about his sister; maybe this day wasn't as terrible as he initially considered it to be. There was a good side to it, even more than one.

The Great Hall was bustling with people as they entered it. More hostile stares greeted them as they scanned the chamber for some free space; finally, they simultaneously spotted Bronn and Podrick standing by the wall and walked their way.

"Maester's still breathing?" Jaime asked with a smirk as he came to a stop next to Bronn, who looked significantly better now. His skin returned to its normal color and his hand seemed to cooperate with the rest of his body quite smoothly; moreover, he was standing on his own two feet without much effort, only leaning against the wall for some additional support.

"I decided to give him a second chance." He shrugged nonchalantly.

"How generous of you," Jaime commented sarcastically; Bronn didn't manage to answer as the royalty had just arrived to fill the empty chairs behind the table at the head of the chamber. The crowd stepped aside to make room for them and for a moment the people in the Hall became a dense mass of flesh. It was a tremendous relief when the dignitaries reached their destination and it was possible to be individual beings once again.

The room went quiet as they sat down - Daenerys in the middle, Jon at her left, Sansa and Tyrion to her right. There was already something very different in the atmosphere around them comparing to the one from this morning. They seemed more focused and determined, while also much calmer despite the new imminent threats.

Daenerys looked around the men who, as Jaime had already gathered, could never truly be her faithful subjects, and stood up. All eyes focused on her. All eyes except for Tormund's, who stared obtrusively at Brienne with such intensity she could no longer stand it; she moved to stand behind her companions so he would no longer be able to see her, all the while looking only and entirely at the Dragon Queen.

"Thank you all for coming," Daenerys said, sending a soft smile to the people. "Today we have learned information that might change the fate of the Great War forever, and among it our own as well. You all have the right to know what is happening."

Her gaze swept the faces of the people around her seeking understanding or curiosity in their eyes. She had to fail as her expression slightly faltered; it didn't stop her from continuing, though, and soon she began conveying all the information Jaime and Tormund had brought this day.

The reactions were diverse, varying from calm to outraged, and sometimes really polarized. Hearing the part of the story that had come from Jaime, the Northerners started murmuring something quietly, yet it managed to rise to a low, steady hum as a lot of them gazed at Jaime menacingly. They didn't like the Lannisters among their own ranks, theoretically on the same side, while in reality, it was to always remain "theoretical" in their minds.

Jaime understood they would never trust him, but this was nothing new. As all the more antagonistic stares were being cast at his direction, he watched the people around him as the Dragon Queen spoke. The majority of the Northern lords didn't seem content with their new ruler. They looked at her with almost the same hatred and distrust with which they stared at him, whispering things to each other, things that probably didn't help her cause. And who could blame them? She was a Targaryen and they had no reason to trust her house, the same way they didn't have a reason to trust house Lannister. What surprised him, though, was that some of them looked the same way at Jon Snow. From what Brienne had told him he was certain Snow's genealogy was a secret knowledge, yet, even without taking him for a dragon, they didn't see a wolf in him anymore either. Maybe because they didn't like him bending the knee before the Queen without their consent, without even asking them for an opinion? It seemed like the lords had already found a new wolf to follow, though, as there was one person they gazed upon with respect and reverence. It felt like they were ready to pronounce Sansa queen any given moment, and the title would not necessarily be Queen in the North, but _the_ Queen, one and only true ruler of the whole Westeros. Jaime chuckled internally; that would be an entertaining show to witness.

It was good to know that in any such event, he would remain on Brienne's side, having sworn his sword to lady Stark and not the Dragon Queen. At least once in his life, he had managed to use his brains.

As the story went on, Jaime created his own view of the political and military situation, from what he had seen and heard this day. The conclusion was quite simple - it was chaos. His skilled eye of a commander noticed the complete disorder, carefully covered with seeming control and lawful obedience. Common people, lords, warriors, soldiers that had nothing to do with each other gathering under one roof to await the fight with the dreadful enemy not one of them had ever even glimpsed at. Armies already freezing outside, because there was no place for them inside the castle. Lords that pretended to care, while all they truly wanted was to flee to their own walls and stay there forever, protecting only their kin. People who slept basically everywhere they could; five in one small chamber, in the corridors, in the dining rooms. Scared boys who had been given weapons way too early and were doomed to die at the faintest swing of an enemy's sword.

The havoc was being wreaked far before the war would get here. It was a mayhem no one had ever seen. It was their own apocalypse.

Everyone up high - Daenerys, Snow, even Sansa and Tyrion - more or less consciously tried to make it all look like they had it under control, but the truth was, nothing was under control. They were vegetating in anticipation for the great battle that, once it came, could find them not only unprepared but also already decimated by cold, hunger and extreme exhaustion, lacking food, skills, weapons, numbers. Before, Jaime had thought there might have been a slight chance for survival. Now, he stopped hoping. He just wished to live before he would die, that was all. And now, forgiven by both human and actual dragons, he had such a chance.

His gaze involuntarily turned towards Brienne. For a moment he watched her as she was standing behind Bronn, straightened up in all her hight, her focused gaze fastened on the Queen. Something turned inside him as he drank her image in, smiling softly to his thoughts. Yes, she definitely belonged in the plan of living the life before the certain, untimely death would come. He could only hope she wished to participate in it.

Finally, Daenerys finished reporting the latest events and looked at Jon, who stood up and took the speech over from her.

"The enemy is close," he started, his voice so firm and dire Jaime and Bronn looked at each other with smirks, Bronn barely restraining himself from laughing. "Closer than we expected. It is possible they will attack this night and find us unprepared. There is such an option." He stopped talking for a moment, his solemn gaze sweeping over his people. "I won't lie to you - we will die today if that happens."

Surprisingly, no angry or fearful whispers came through the crowd; it was like in an instant the self-serving lords understood the harshest of truths. The only thing that remained was silence, spreading in everyone's hearts and planting a seed of passive despair. No one dared to speak, staring at their leader with flickers of hope in their eyes, hope they couldn't yet eradicate, hope that was going to be alive until the very end. Hope that might become the only thing keeping them alive during the darkest of winter nights.

Jaime curiously observed those around him; people looked like the weight of the world suddenly landed on their shoulders, pinning them to the ground, crushing and suffocating them. The atmosphere, previously defiant and determined, in one moment gained the dull stench of darkness and gloom.

"We don't know where exactly they are. And why don't we know that?" Jon hung his voice for a moment, his eyes sweeping over the silent crowd. "Because our soldiers are afraid. They fear going further north for the risk of meeting the dead. They fear the enemy more than the death itself and so they desert. The majority of patrols do not come back ever again."

"We'll make these cowards braver!" one of the lords shouted, the others nodded or murmured their concord.

"No." Jon shook his head. "They are not to blame. Don't we all want to walk away from all of it? Don't we want to distance ourselves from the greatest danger the humanity has ever seen?"

Murmurs spread around the crowd; negligence towards deserters had never been seen in the North, not to mention the firm and strict Winterfell. They all remembered Ned Stark cutting heads of those with weak hearts. They all thought his son would honor this tradition.

"We all want that. But, unlike our soldiers, we cannot escape. We are leaders. We need to lead so the people of Westeros live to see the other day." Jon's gaze sought courage and willingness in his people's faces, qualities necessary to survive the impending war, yet he found very little of anything but the gloomy defiance. They didn't lack bravery or strength, but they also didn't want to listen to truths and be forced to show their real colors. They could say as much as they wished how they will punish those of weak hearts; however, not a single one of them would volunteer to take their place. No one wanted to be out there. No one wanted to face the unknown. "Our guards didn't see anything suspicious, but guards can see only what is in their reach. We need to send new patrols with those who are afraid enough to also be brave."

As some of the lords realized what their king was telling them while others fell into confusion, silence reappeared. Those who did guess Snow's intentions seemed to desperately avoid his gaze, pretending they were somewhere entirely different. Jaime wondered quite bitterly what had happened to the courageous people of the North. Surely the reactions would be different if the enemy was human, but still... Even the most faithful and disciplined North had managed to fall apart without the firm and protective wings of Eddard Stark.

"This night we will prepare." Jon's voice resonated in the silence of the Great Hall. "We thought we will come to the enemy, but it is the enemy who will come to us. If they attack in the morning, we will be prepared. However, if they do not attack us until then, we will send new patrols on the morrow to find out their exact location. We could send a dragon, as they are much quicker than horses, but we cannot risk losing any more of them. People are replaceable. Dragons are not."

Murmurs arose once again. Those were not the words that would earn Snow some respect. No one wanted to hear they were expendable.

"That is why we need six volunteers who will travel north at dawn and bring us the information we shall have."

 _Volunteers._ Jaime thought Snow had to be extremely naive to expect anyone would ever volunteer to do such a thing before Jon's gaze met his and he realized that he was going to be a sacrificial lamb.

"Kingslayer, Ser Bronn, we appreciate your eagerness to help the cause. Thank you for volunteering."

All eyes turned towards the two knights, Brienne's wide and almost indignant. Jaime wanted to laugh; they should have seen it coming from the very start.

"Always willing to serve!" he sneered, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Snow ignored him completely, his gaze already shifting to someone else.

"For free," Bronn added silently, looking at Jaime with accusation in his eyes.

"Not my fault." Jaime shrugged. His eyes suddenly rested on Tyrion, who apparently had been trying to catch the eye contact with him for quite some time. "If you want to find the one responsible for getting you into this mess in the first place, look there."

Bronn followed his gaze, narrowing his eyes as they fell upon the younger Lannister, who, in confusion, frowned and after a while looked away from where they were standing, shades of shame and guilt on his face.

"Serve the Lannisters, they said," Bronn grumbled bitterly. "You'll be bloody rich, they said."

"You're hearing voices? That's disturbing."

"You know what the voices are telling me now?" He straightened and looked at Jaime demandingly. "To run as far from this shit as I can, when I still can."

"But you can't," Jaime noticed with mocked indignation. "You already volunteered, remember? King Jon is counting on you."

As the two knights bickered the list of volunteers grew longer and eventually closed. It went exactly the way Jon had thought it would go.

"Someone needs to show these fuckers where they belong," Tormund exclaimed. "I'm goin'."

Jon nodded approvingly. Brienne fastened her gaze on Sansa wishing to get her attention before it would be too late.

"I'll go." Gendry was next. Arya, standing right next to him, opened her mouth to say the same, but Sandor Clegane cut her off before she had a chance to speak.

"These cunts won't survive without me. I'm going."

Arya sent him a murderous glare at which he didn't react in the slightest.

Sansa finally felt Brienne's insistent stare on her. There was a question in her knight's irises, a rather obvious plea for permission. Lady Stark nodded her head.

"Me too," Brienne said quickly before anyone could beat her to it, which completed the team of so-called volunteers. Tormund turned around and grinned widely at her, his eyes shining with joy and anticipation. She took a deep breath to prevent herself from charging at him and turned her back on him, returning her attention to the two knights beside her, trying not to think about the possibility of common patrol with her wild admirer. "That's Tormund Giantsbane," she finally told them, this time not even trying to sound neutral. The discussion between Jaime and Bronn ended immediately, their heads snapping to where the Wildling was standing.

Bronn whistled silently at the sight.

"Quite a competition," he muttered to Jaime with a half smirk so Brienne wouldn't hear him. Jaime cast him a murderous stare, but before he could retort Brienne answered, apparently disposing of better hearing abilities than Bronn had given her credit for.

"He's free to take if you want him."

Bronn chuckled.

"I'd prefer Pod if you're offering." Podrick gazed at him, suddenly alarmed.

"Podrick is my squire and he's not going anywhere," Brienne answered firmly and without hesitation. Pod released a sigh of relief - despite the fondness he had for Brienne's fellow knights, he was hers and hoped it would remain like that till the end of his days.

"Maybe you should rethink it."

"I highly doubt I'd ever feel like it."

"You do remember Pod isn't a thing, right?" Jaime cut in with a smirk. Podrick gazed from one knight to the other, not sure why he suddenly became the main subject of the discussion, treated somewhat like an object at the market.

"You're jealous you don't have a squire," Bronn retorted.

"I have you. You're usually enough."

Bronn narrowed his eyes.

"Careful, I might consider being your living shield bored me."

"Nah." Jaime shrugged nonchalantly. "What would happen to your beloved castle then? Being in your debt is the safest way to survive in Westeros."

Brienne smiled to herself, the two men bickering easing her into some pleasant memories. Before Bronn could reply, Snow spoke up again.

"My lords, my ladies, you may now return to your men and prepare them for what is to come. We will meet here again in an hour or so to discuss the attack and plan the defense. You are dismissed. Volunteers, stay."

As the majority of the crowd started leaving the hall, Jon watched the newly formed team carefully, repeating his next steps in his mind. He hadn't chosen to send a few bigger teams because he needed people here, in Winterfell, and he also wanted them to move as quickly and silently as possible, which was manageable only with a limited number of people. It wasn't like he could afford losing six fighters, who arguably were the most skilled swordsmen in his entire army, not to mention the three Valyrian-steel swords they had; he couldn't lose them, but he was almost certain his plan will prove to be both efficient and quite safe. They will come back, he was almost sure of that.

Almost.

He wished he could go with them, but he had to remind himself time and time again he needed to stay where he was and lead. It was not the time for heroism, as Daenerys had told him, it was time to take matters into his own hands and rule the North as only he could do it. And so, he ruled.

He had predicted all of the people who volunteered, so he didn't even have to adjust his plan which, after some heated discussion, had been approved by every person whose voice mattered. They will travel in pairs in three different directions, so they would cover the biggest terrain possible. He had had some troubles convincing Sansa it wasn't about having a pleasant journey with a nice pal; he knew his decisions will not be met with approval from the volunteers, but those were the best possible options. He needed to have one person he trusted and one with a Valyrian-steel blade for a pair. Considering Sam, having followed Arya's suggestion, had temporarily entrusted Sandor Clegane with Heartsbane, the answer was obvious and he was pretty confident with his choices. Yet, he had to internally apologize to his wild friend, seeing him grinning at lady Brienne and knowing Tormund won't like what was going to come.

Soon there were only the usual people, volunteers, the Starks and Podrick left in the Great Hall. The majority of them moved to join Jon at the table which was now a Westeros map while the rest remained at their places.

"Still so bitter, mate?" Bronn approached the Hound with a half-smile. Sandor gazed at him hostilely.

"Fuck off," he barked as an answer.

"I'll take that as a yes." Bronn clapped the other man's back and withdrew his hand quickly before he would lose it. It was good to know some things never changed.

Jon gazed at the people standing in front of him and decided they were ready. He was ready.

"As I told you before, we want you to bring us the information we need that others do not bring. You'll go in pairs in three different directions. I need you to be quick, but also safe. If you're not careful enough this might end up to be a suicide mission." Tormund yawned ostentatiously, making Arya smirk. Jon sighed and continued, no longer feeling so guilty about his decisions. "Tormund, you and the Kingslayer will go towards Eastwatch."

Tormund's face fell on the spot, Jaime's brow went higher, Brienne cursed internally, Bronn didn't even try to stifle a chuckle. Jon quickly continued as not to give anyone, especially Tormund, any time for interfering.

"You'll go northeast." He drew a straight line on the table-turned-map with his finger. "And then come back first south, then west." He drew two additional lines which together formed a reversed letter _L._ "Lady Brienne." He gazed at Brienne to make sure he got her attention. She looked back at him calmly, now not really caring who she will be paired with. She didn't know the blacksmith boy - or rather a future Baratheon heir - as well as the other two men, but she was sure they'll be fine either way, unlike Jaime and Tormund, who will probably be everything but fine.

"You and Ser Bronn will go towards the Shadow Tower, likewise." He drew similar lines to the ones he had traced before. "Gendry, Clegane, you are left with Castle Black. You'll go straight north. I've already sent ravens to the Shadow Tower and Castle Black. If my former brothers are still alive and able to receive my letters, they will venture south and maybe meet you somewhere on the road, meanwhile checking the northern premises for the wights. If you do meet, you all shall make sure to cover as much terrain as possible before coming back here." He stopped talking, gazing at his volunteers intently and waiting for possible questions that did not come. "I don't want you to unnecessarily risk your lives, so you'll go as far as you can by day, find a shelter when it gets dark and make your way back as soon as the sun rises."

"What shelter?" Gendry asked, pointing at the empty spaces north of Winterfell.

"Anything." Jon remembered his own journey to Castle Black like it had been only yesterday. "Caves, abandoned huts, trees. Anything you can find that would shelter you from their eyes."

"Up the tree? So the dragon wouldn't see us?" Tormund mocked. Jon looked at him wearily, his gaze saying _you're not helping_. Tormund answered with a shrug and a defiant stare of his own which read _I wasn't going to_.

"The road is long and dangerous, and the days are now short, getting shorter every single time the sun sets," Jon continued his speech undeterred. He tried to look only at Gendry and Brienne, as they seemed to be the only ones truly interested in the cause. "Do not exhaust yourselves or your horses, we need you back here in one piece. You probably won't get very far, but it should be enough to see some traces of the enemy. I want you here at dusk two morrows from this moment. Do you have any questions?"

"What if we find them?" Arya asked, only after a moment remembering she wasn't going to be a part of any patrol. "They, I mean. What if _they_ find the dead." She shot Clegane yet another pointed stare. He just grunted and looked away, shaking his head dismissively.

Brienne, for once, felt gratitude towards Sandor for volunteering in place of Arya - she wouldn't like seeing the younger Stark venture yet again on an adventure where Brienne wouldn't be able to protect her. Not that Arya needed protection, Brienne thought briefly. They were really alike, indeed. And they both had some kind of guardians they didn't really need, didn't they? She looked at Jaime, remembering their conversation concerning Tormund.

 _I don't need protection, but thank you for your concern._

 _Anytime._

Something in her twisted and she had to look away quickly before he would notice she was staring at him. Although it had nothing to do with protection, she did need him.

 _Focus, Brienne. The wights are waiting,_ she thought, reminding herself of the priorities.

"If you do find the dead, come back at the very same instant. Do not," Jon gazed intently at Tormund, accentuating every word, "I repeat, do not engage. Gather as much information as you can and come back. Is this understood?"

Murmurs spread around him, murmurs he took as a common "yes".

"Good. You are dismissed now. Go get some rest, you're leaving at dawn," he finished, relieved that it was finally over.

The people started to disperse, silent conversations arising between them. Brienne wanted to thank Clegane for what he had done but noticed he was already busy and decided to do it some other time.

Sandor turned around only to find Arya staring at him coldly.

"I know, you'll gut me out and show me my insides before I die," he barked, passing her.

"Take care of him."

Her voice was so quiet and unlike the Arya he had come to know that for a moment he thought he had imagined that, and his imagination wasn't exactly vivid. But then her gaze changed and she looked at him sadly, solemnly, pleadingly. So he just nodded his head without a word and they both walked their respective ways.

Tormund waited until the rest disappeared to walk closer to Jon and burst out: "Come on, kid! I'm trying to woo my woman here and you're doin' nothin' to help me!"

Jon looked at him heavily and sighed.

" _Your_ woman doesn't seem interested," he noticed bitterly, not blind to lady Brienne's reactions to Tormund's advances. "Besides, it's hardly the time for wooing anyone. We have more important things to do. Don't you remember your solemn promise that you'll make the dead pay for what they've done to your people?"

Tormund's eyes went darker.

"I remember," he muttered disgruntledly. "But why are you sending me with the sister-fucker?"

Jon gazed around hurriedly and when he made sure no one was watching them, especially Tyrion, he answered: "Because I know you won't hesitate to kill him if he does anything suspicious."

Those were some harsh words that didn't come lightly. He wasn't an enthusiast of murder, and even though he hated Jaime Lannister with all the burning passion he could find in his heart, he wouldn't kill him in cold blood. But he will never be able to trust the Lannister knight and so, he needed someone to do the dirty work for him, if there would be the need for it. No sooner, though. He knew that if anything happened to the Kingslayer without an apparent reason, Tyrion and very likely Sansa would never speak to him again and he didn't intend for that to happen.

He sometimes hated what he had become. This was one of such moments.

Tormund's eyes widened in surprise as his mouth shaped in a grin.

"Can't I just kill him now?"

"No!" Jon immediately regretted the harsh answer, although Tormund didn't really seem bothered by it. "I'd very much like to see him dead, trust me. But he has a Valyrian-steel sword and we need it," he added explanatorily nonetheless.

"And one hand that's only good for his sister's cunt," Tormund quipped.

"Maybe." Jon sighed in exasperation. "But Sansa and Lady Brienne trust him, so..."

Tormund's expression changed abruptly like the angry waters during a violent wave of a storm.

"Brienne trusts him?" he asked in a peculiarly calm tone and crossed his arms on his chest.

"She vouched for him before your arrival."

Tormund hummed in acknowledgment and walked away without any word of goodbye. Jon stared after him, not sure if or what exactly had he just done. He was dreadfully tired like they had already fought a battle with the dead and were somehow still alive. And there were still hundreds of talks with the lords ahead of him, as Daenerys had made him responsible for their military defense and communication with the northern people.

He turned around and immediately stumbled upon Daenerys' observant eyes and her soft smile. He returned the gesture, smiling weakly at her.

"Ruling is a tough job," he noticed in an apologetic tone.

She laughed lightly.

"Wait till you're the king on the Iron Throne," she said, standing up from the table and joining him at the map.

"I told you I have no interest in being the heir." Weren't they already past these issues?

"I didn't say anything about being the heir."

He looked at her, surprise taking his senses away, while his whole world got lost in her eyes.

* * *

"I haven't volunteered for quite some time," Bronn commented immediately after leaving the Great Chamber as he and Jaime walked out behind Brienne and Podrick. Brienne was busy trying to explain to her squire why he couldn't go with her - the orders of two people at once didn't prove to be enough, so she called in the more important reasons and told him that with him around wights would be informed of their presence miles before the patrol could reach the dead. After that Podrick went silent, either because of hurt feelings or because of the truth standing behind her words; she didn't know and at that moment couldn't care less. His survival was much more important than his pride.

"Tyrion's trial?" Jaime asked, remembering the story from years before.

"I knew I'd get paid, so that hardly counts for volunteering. But this one should definitely be fun," Bronn smirked at Jaime.

"We can always make an exchange of partners," Jaime replied casually.

"You'd wish." Bronn chuckled and gazed askance at Brienne, who had to now escape to the most absurd argument - she allegedly needed Pod to stay here in order to protect Sansa. Jaime hadn't actually seen the squire in a real fight, but from Brienne's behavior, he surmised it wouldn't be an exactly spectacular view.

Their march came to a halt when they heard a voice calling from behind.

"Jaime!"

The knight didn't turn around, but he did stop in his steps. So much had happened this day that he had almost forgotten Brienne hadn't been the only one for whose good graces he had counted on.

"We'll leave you to it." Bronn patted him on the shoulder, greeted Tyrion with a short nod and walked away with Pod and Brienne, who cast Jaime a talk-to-your-brother look before leaving them in the corridor.

Jaime turned around only when he lost sight of his companions. And there _he_ was - the youngest of the Lannister siblings, the murderer of Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the Targaryen Queen. Once upon a time, the traitor. Now... Now, Jaime did not know. He had no idea how the conversation that awaited him will or should go, no clue whatsoever. He didn't even know how he currently felt about his brother, not to mention how to talk about it.

Tyrion was standing at some distance from him, just staring. For a moment they both didn't know what to do next, awkwardness and all of the unsaid - or wrongly said - words creeping between them and standing in the way. Could some things be forgiven and the others forgotten? Or maybe a rift between them had been already too deep to ever rebuild a bridge over it?

"I was really glad to see you this morning," Tyrion finally said, attempting a slight smile. _Glad_ wasn't exactly the right word to describe his feelings, but it was the safest one. Relieved. So happy as he hadn't been in a really long time. Maybe he could tell Jaime that; their last conversation before his meeting with Cersei hadn't been as hostile as the one Bronn had arranged, but it wasn't brotherly as well and all he wanted right now was to get his brother back.

Jaime gazed at Tyrion silently. He could say the same words, which would definitely make Tyrion feel better, but they didn't want to leave his throat. He hadn't felt much seeing Tyrion this morning, that was the truth.

"And I'm sorry I..." Tyrion hung his voice, his gaze dropping onto the floor, "...I didn't protect you."

Jaime chuckled humorlessly.

"It was never your job."

"Maybe it should have been." Tyrion's eyes shone with guilt and Jaime realized his little brother was blaming himself for not aiding him more in the struggle against Daenerys' anger. "I should have advised you more in the past, I should..."

"Stop it." Jaime shook his head. "You don't owe me anything."

This time it was Tyrion who laughed.

"Absolutely, I only owe you my life and basically all of my good childhood memories," he answered bitterly.

 _Childhood_. In some other life they had been close, hadn't they? The memories of Tyrion's incarceration flooded Jaime's mind as he tried to grasp his current attitude towards his brother.

"Those were only my choices that ultimately led me here," he said firmly. "Not yours. And I'm finally ready to take full responsibility for them."

Tyrion gazed at him for a few seconds, then smiled softly.

"Look at us - two lions serving wolves and dragons. We've come a long road since we've been here the last time. Father would be proud." He didn't manage to bite his tongue before mentioning their father; he remembered all too well how it had ended the last time he had said the exact same words. He could only hope this time it will be different.

Jaime looked at him silently, thinking. Tyrion believed they both had traveled so far; but it could also be said, and would definitely be said by their sister and father were they here, that they had _fallen_ really far. There was now a question - how did Jaime himself see it all? Had they traveled or had they fallen?

He had three roads to go, from which one had already been chosen against when he had left King's Landing. He could still make a choice between cutting ties with every living member of his family and becoming a lone lion, or finally forgiving his brother and adopting Tyrion's point of view. So... had they traveled, or had they fallen? Some Lannister pride was fighting in him for a moment, refusing to fully acknowledge the utter defeat of their family, opting for the former option. However, his pride was no longer important and he was willing to acknowledge with certainty that he had been falling all those past years, standing blindly and stubbornly beside Cersei. Maybe he should have truly seen through her right after Joffrey's murder; yet, he hadn't, continuing his decline instead, letting her hatred poison his heart as well. He should have done so many things... It was now too late to turn back the time, but there were still some things he could change.

They had come a long road indeed.

"I take full responsibility for my actions as well," Tyrion continued after not receiving any answer for quite a while. "I know what I've done, I also know you'll never forgive me and that I will never be able to repay you for what you've been doing for me all my life. But if we're both here, looking at the end of the world from the same side of the audience, taking responsibilities for our sins..." he paused for a moment, glaring in the distance, then suddenly looked Jaime straight in the eyes. "I don't want us to end like this."

"So what do you want?" Jaime's tone was far different than when he had asked Tyrion the same question in the King's Landing dungeons. The younger man immediately sensed it and decided to seize the opportunity, as it might go away and never return if he didn't use it properly.

"I want us to be like we used to," he said honestly, hope shining in his eyes. It was all he wanted at the moment. "I want us to be brothers again. In a Stark-ish meaning of this word, not any other. The wolves know how to be siblings," he chuckled but immediately grew serious again.

Jaime discovered there was not much left of the hostilities he had experienced towards Tyrion before. Or maybe... maybe they had truly never been there, arising only from Cersei's influence? He had loved their father, of course, be he couldn't have been blind to what kind of a person Tywin Lannister had been or how he had treated Tyrion. And, truth be told, Jaime had always loved Tyrion more. Now, no longer obliged by his faithful devotion towards Cersei, he saw things clearer. In the last few days, he had managed to reshuffle his priorities and redefine family love all over again. They were still a family. Maybe lone lion would have a slight chance for survival, but the pack of two? Who knew how it could go?

He was more or less a free man now, and he was going to make his own decisions. Finally.

He walked up to Tyrion and knelt on one knee before his brother to face him on his own level.

"You're my little brother and I'll love and protect you until my dying day. That didn't change and never will. We're all that's left now, you and me." Not so long before, he had told the same thing to Cersei. They had shared this phrase a lot of times, but it had never been the truth, even if it had seemed like it. Now, Cersei was the lone lion and Jaime didn't pity her in the slightest. There was no positive feeling left in his heart for her. She had ruined everything in his life, she had ruined him, she would not ruin his relationship with Tyrion. Over his dead body.

Tyrion's expression made Jaime's heart squeeze painfully. Tyrion looked overwhelmed with joy and relief, his eyes sparkling like it was the best thing he had ever heard, the thing he had been waiting to hear for many years. Without saying a word he closed the gap between them and embraced Jaime. After only a second-long hesitation Jaime returned the hug, realizing he needed it as well. He had missed his little brother, although he hadn't wanted to admit it even to himself, drowning in hate. Hate that was contagious and spread in King's Landing like a wildfire, its seedbed being their dear sister.

They remained like that for quite some time, transferring all their longing for each other into the hug. People passing them by gazed at them uneasily, but they didn't even see it, slowly, steadily realizing that they were going to be brothers again.

Finally, Tyrion stepped back and exhaled a happy sigh.

"Welcome to Winterfell, brother!" He smiled widely, feeling like a completely changed person. A person who had been forgiven, at least partially. "I know it didn't treat you especially well as far, but, hopefully, it will change now."

Jaime chuckled and straightened up.

"If I survive the patrol with Tormund," he noticed.

Tyrion grimaced.

"Yes, that is a slight inconvenience," he admitted. "But that's tomorrow. From the more pressing concerns, do you have any place to sleep?"

"I do," Jaime answered before fully analyzing the answer. In fact, he didn't have a place to sleep, because he couldn't stay where he had been the last night. He couldn't and Brienne definitely wouldn't propose such indecency. Last night had been different - he had been unconscious, she had been his savior. This night... this night they would both be all too conscious.

He should have asked Tyrion for a place in his chamber, but before he managed to do so Tyrion looked behind his shoulder and smiled apologetically.

"I have to go back," he said sadly. "I'm still treading the unsure ground for withholding important information. I need to be the obedient and helpful Hand right now."

"Of course." Jaime nodded, deciding not to bother Tyrion with his sleeping accommodations. He will handle. "But before you go..." he started hesitantly, "...why didn't you tell Daenerys about the child?"

He needed to know that.

Tyrion hesitated, his eyes sweeping the floor.

"Because for once I was actually trying to protect you," he said quietly and, without looking back at Jaime, walked away.

* * *

 **A/N:** The reunion between Jaime and Tyrion wasn't the easiest to write, but I definitely had to do that. I love the relationship between the Lannister brothers even more than Jaime and Bronn's bromance. Hope you enjoyed it!


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